The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?
by Ibex's Lyre
Summary: Those who are prepared shall not want for warmth when the snows come upon this enchanted land... *sequel to Lady of Shalott*
1. Quantum Cat

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The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?

by Ibex's Lyre

**Disclaimer: **is applicable to every chapter. I reserve the right to modify it as I see fit. I do not own Harry Potter or Schrodinger's poor cat. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and Co, and Schrodinger came up with the original idea of the Quantum Cat. However, I *do* own a nice pair of horns, and cute little hooves and-- it's best we don't get into that.

*Grin* I named the cat for my Muse, who is probably banging her head against her monitor, muttering evil things about Ibexes and the mangling of Physics at this very moment. Don't laugh too hard, dear Muse-- Hot chocolate is very dangerous to inhale--or exhale, whatever the case may be. ; p

Future chapters can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=981031

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Chapter One: Quantum Cat

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...One can even set up quite ridiculous cases. A cat is penned up in a steel chamber, along with the following diabolical device (which must be secured against direct interference by the cat): in a Geiger counter there is a tiny bit of radioactive substance, so small that perhaps_ in the course of one hour one of the atoms decays, but also, with equal probability, perhaps none; if it happens, the counter tube discharges and through a relay releases a hammer which shatters a small flask of hydrocyanic acid. If one has left this entire system to itself for an hour, one would say that the cat still lives _if_ meanwhile no atom has decayed. The first atomic decay would have poisoned it. The Psi function for the entire system would express this by having in it the living and the dead cat (pardon the expression) mixed or smeared out in equal parts._

It is typical of these cases that an indeterminacy originally restricted to the atomic domain becomes transformed into macroscopic indeterminacy, which can then be resolved_ by direct observation. That prevents us from so naively accepting as valid a "blurred model'' for representing reality. In itself it would not embody anything unclear or contradictory. There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks._

We know that superposition of possible outcomes must exist simultaneously at a microscopic level because we can observe interference effects from these. We know (at least most of us know) that the cat in the box is dead, alive or dying and not in a smeared out state between the alternatives. When and how does the model of many microscopic possibilities resolve itself into a particular macroscopic state? When and how does the fog bank of microscopic possibilities transform itself to the blurred picture we have of a definite macroscopic state. That is the measurement problem and Schrodinger's cat is a simple and elegant explanations of that problem. 

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-- Erwin Schrodinger

There was a pleasant presence in her mind, a comforting _awareness_ that she was not alone. Of course she wasn't alone, she thought through the haze of sleep, she hadn't been since she-- A sudden, panicked thought caused her to gasp in fear--was she still sane? 

"Yes..." murmured a soft, silky voice that vibrated down her jawbone, causing her to relax and snuggle closer to her source of warmth. "Go back to sleep." There was a gentle rustling of clothing as suddenly a thick, woolen cloak was wrapped further around her, drawing her closer in the process. In the comfort that was bliss, she sighed a deep sigh and turned her face towards that of the other whom she was so a part of. For the first moment in a very long time, she was completely and utterly at peace. Hermione complied, and drifted back into the calming darkness of sleep.

When she awoke again, it was to find herself alone on the couch, Snape's thick over robes draped over her. How and when they had appeared, she was uncertain, but Hermione assumed that he must have come down from the infirmary and draped his cloak on her to keep her from catching pneumonia. _If only to make sure I am in class on Monday so that he can have someone to take points from, _she thought sourly. The previous night was still fresh in her mind, the wound he had inflicted more raw than she felt it should be. So much for gratitude. _But then, this _is_ Snape we're talking about. Did I really expect anything?_

The answer 'no' came readily into mind, causing her to groan and sit up despite the fact that all of her muscles ached in protest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she almost wondered if she was having a sympathetic response to the pain she was sensing from Snape, but then Hermione remembered just exactly what she had done: died. Or... close enough, anyway. "Perhaps I should call it the new, improved version of the Draught of Living Death, only to be ingested on Halloween." Unfortunately, it was too early in the morning for cynicism--or was it? A quick glance at her wristwatch, and she found that it was 9:00 A.M. in the morning on the Saturday following Halloween. For a brief moment, she wondered why she was on the couch, and not her bed, but a quick glance reminded her as to why. "Peeves must have decided to have some fun with my room," Hermione muttered to herself, more than just a little annoyed. Who would have thought that Peeves the Poltergeist would have actually dared to trespass somewhere so near to Snape's quarters?

"Get off of my bed, you whelping, yowling _tabby!_" came a silky, snarling voice--Snape at his worst. Curious, Hermione got up from the couch and slowly wandered over towards the sound of his voice and, inevitably, into his room. What she encountered was something she'd never thought she'd see in a million years: Snape surrounded by blind, mewling kittens. Mrs. Norris was hissing at him despite his every effort to shoo her off his bed (and simultaneously order some poor house elves to clean up the mess) and Crookshanks appeared to be struggling over the fact that yes, he _was_ a father (the reality hadn't hit him last night) and yes, being part kneazle meant that he had some innate responsibility to help Mrs. Norris look after and raise her kittens. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. "And I suppose you think this is funny, you horrid, mind-reading Gryffindor?" Snape growled, when he realized that she was in the room. "This is partially your fault!"

"Professor Snape, sir," Hermione said after she gained enough control of herself to keep a straight face, "the fact that Crookshanks is my cat does not mean that this," and she motioned to the present situation, "is my fault."

"I believe that there is a way to keep cats--especially _prolific males_," the glare Snape shot Crookshanks almost made Hermione burst out laughing again, despite the fact that she could feel his outraged indignation trying to creep into her mind, "from reproducing..."

"Crookshanks was very much so against that."

"Well, then, Miss Granger, I shall not refrain from taking points from Gryffindor."

"Sir?"

Her humor must have invaded his mind, for suddenly, Snape gave her a rather nasty smirk. "And you may rectify your error in sentimentality by delivering Mrs. Norris _and_ her spawn--all of it--" he looked clearly distraught as a blinded part kneazel kitten, somewhat more developed than regular kittens at its stage in life, gently butted up against Snape's hand "to Filch, whom is their rightful owner... Now!"

"Oh, no, sir! I mean," she hastily said, seeing his face sour steadily, "Mrs. Norris really shouldn't be moved for several days--"

"Twenty five points, Miss Granger, are already gone. For every minute longer I am forced to wait, another fifty will be lost forever from Gryffindor." 

Defeated, Hermione sighed and slowly summoned a box and began to attempt to persuade Mrs. Norris and her kittens to climb in. So much for that idea... Unless... A small, triumphant smile formed on Hermione's lips as she began to plan just exactly what she was going to do.

Snape watched Hermione suspiciously as she left the room, kittens and cats in tow. She was... _up to something..._ He could feel it. What irritated the Potions Master most was that he simply could not sense what. Oh, he could sense her again, but she had succeeded in denying him access to the particular part of her mind that was focused on her scheme. Very Slytherin of her--he almost approved. He would have to figure out a way to circumnavigate it later, if only to make sure that she _was_ clearly and truly sane. Call him paranoid, but he was not completely convinced of Raidne's good nature. There was some catch, some hidden trap--he was sure of it. Sirens, after all, did not do good favors unless it benefited them.

***

No one visited Filch's office by choice. Hermione certainty didn't consider this choice, anyway, but she was sure that it would be worth it. After all, Argus Filch didn't seem like the type who would tolerate the young offspring of _any_ species crawling around him--let alone having to deal with students day in and day out. Surely he wouldn't mind if she relieved one of the four mismatched kittens from his hands? 

For a brief moment, Hermione was sure she could feel Snape's mind gently probing against the invisible wall she had constructed around her idea, and she smiled to herself. The sirens had inadvertently taught her many useful skills. If she wanted, she could completely shut him out of her mind and would have--but for the fact that she had grown used to having somebody in her mind constantly. It was a comfort to know that she was never alone--even if she was tethered to the most cynical, sarcastic, and generally unpleasant man in all of Hogwarts. The very same man who had been the only one willing to give up all of his privacy to help a student that had been, at best, a constant thorn in his side. Perhaps that meant that somewhere deep inside, he did have a heart after all.

Feelings that had lain dormant for several years began to slowly creep up, and Hermione desperately pushed them back down. Now that she was sane, it was no time for her to suddenly be looking for impossible things! He had made himself very clear the previous night--he obviously did not want to have anything to do with her--as much as was possible, considering their current situation.

A hesitant knock on the door and it was yanked out of her grips. Argus Filch, moody as ever, glared down at her as though she had just committed the most heinous crime known to humanity, and had the audacity to do it right in front of his eyes. When he saw the miffed Mrs. Norris and pride in the box Hermione was holding, an almost... loving expression flitted through his eyes, but was promptly dismissed as soon as he saw the other adult cat that had followed Hermione up to his office. "You have my Mrs. Norris, I see," he growled, greasy strands of hair that rivaled even Snape's dangling down into his face. "Well! Give 'er here, girl! Unless you feel like doing something less productive? I know of a few trophies that are in want of a good polishin'. And you, you mangy, flea bitten excuse for a feline!" he snarled down to Crookshanks, "I expect you to be looking after the brats and helping out with the Missus! Two to tango indeed! The current situation is all your fault, and I intend to make sure you regret every second of it!"

Crookshanks looked as though he would never take Snape's advice (which had been to get Mrs. Norris laid) again.

Hermione was promptly dismissed, but before the door could slam shut on her again, she meekly called out, "Sir?"

The scowl, if possible, deepened and in a short, brief instant, Hermione marveled at how very similar Argus Filch and Severus Snape were to each other. Only Snape was about the most brilliant magically gifted person Hermione knew, and poor Filch was a squib. Muggle. Outcast because of birth. And it struck her as funny that Filch's behavior and demeanor was accepted and tolerated only because Dumbledore was the headmaster--but in any other place, Filch would have been a second class citizen because of a fate he couldn't have controlled any more than Hermione could have stopped her becoming a witch. With Snape, however, because he was a wizard, and a very powerful, capable wizard at that, his attitude was carefully ignored by the rest of the Wizarding society. In a way, she almost felt that nature was giving her a lesson in the ironies of life. Who were the magical folks kidding? They were no more or less advanced than muggles were, for all their ideas and attitudes.

"What?" he demanded. "Just because you decided to kill yourself doesn't mean I feel like putting up with you and your little airs. I still had to spend eight hours looking for you! In my opinion, you should get a few weeks worth of detentions for pulling a stunt like that--but no, you pull one mad stunt, and the world regards you as a hero! A few hours hanging by your feet would change that attitude..."

"It's that--" and here Hermione stopped, watching incredulously as Filch actually appeared to be showing affection--_affection!_--towards the little kittens! She was almost positive she had read somewhere that this was one of the signs of the Apocalypse: Filch showing affection towards something other than Mrs. Norris! _Oh, dear,_ she thought. This wasn't going to make what she wanted to ask any easier. Quickly, she formulated a plan and continued where she had left off. "It's just that I overheard Professors Snape and McGonagall making a bet as to your capability to raise a kitten, let alone four." The look on Filch's face told Hermione that this strategy was working. 

"Did he? The haughty, arrogant bas--"

"In fact," Hermione continued before Filch said something he'd probably regret a student overhearing and thus having blackmail leverage, "Professor Snape was smirking and saying it'd be a matter of days before you decided to have the house elves prepare some authentic Chinese!"

"Did he now?" came Filch's terse reply.

She only nodded in response.

A growl escaped from Filch, and he grabbed the nearest kitten and dropped it in Hermione's hands. "In that case, give this to Snape, with my compliments," he added nastily. The black and copper kitten, separated from its mother, began to mew piteously.

"But sir--it should stay with its mother for at least a couple of weeks! It might die otherwise--"

"Exactly right, girl!" Filch laughed rather nastily, enjoying being cruel. "If Snape thinks he's Merlin's gift to familiars, then surely he'll know exactly how to take care of a newborn kitten! Now get out of my sight before I think of some place for you to scrub--without magic!" The door slammed shut, leaving Hermione alone with a blind kitten and feeling rather distraught. Christmas was still almost two months away and Hermione had no idea at all when his birthday was--even in his own mind, Snape refused to admit that even he had been born--and she had no real idea how to take care of a newly born kitten...

Upon feeling her distress, Snape had begun to gently probe her mind--only to be side stepped by a Hermione desperate to fix her own errors. _I got myself into this, after all--I'll keep it alive until..._ The hungry kitten began to mewl desperately, burying its needle-like claws into Hermione's skin and making her fervently wish she had simply kept her mouth shut.

***

Classes began the same as always--except that now Hermione was allowed to have her wand with her at all times. It was early November, and aside from the students fervently wishing it was late December, nothing much had changed. In fact, it was too much the same, and it made her wonder if everything that had happened in the past year had only been a dream, or if it had really happened. Except that--Hermione winced as some of Snape's mental ire leaked through. Probably some second year Gryffindor, from the feelings of it.

__

Granger, would you mind keeping your musings to yourself?

Only momentarily surprised, Hermione bit back a scathing retort. Instead, she snapped back, _When are we going to discuss my new project? I can't very well graduate without having something more substantial to add to my resume._

His amusement mixed with annoyance began to invade her mind, and she fought desperately to keep her emotional stance. It was simply no fair! She could cloak her own emotions and thoughts fairly well (which took a lot of concentration and discipline, and was by no means very easy to do) but she found it was much harder to block him from her mind. _One would have thought, Miss Granger, that saving somebody's mind from the ruins Sirens caused would have been prestigious enough. Besides, I always thought that ambition was a Slytherin characteristic--feeling like you were sorted into the wrong house, are you?_

No, Professor, she ground out. _I'm quite happy to be a Gryffindor. I just want to have a _real_ Seventh Year Project._

And you will have to wait until later today before I will even think of discussing it. Now go away you obnoxious burden! And why were you sneaking warm milk from the kitchens?

Caught, Hermione froze in mid step. _I like to drink it... before... I go to bed..._

Hermione, it's 2:45 in the afternoon. I know that Remus Lupin makes for a rather dull DADD teacher, but were you really planning to sleep through his class? How... Ungryffindor.

Hermione missed two things in that statement. The first was that Snape had actually called her by her first name--a slight mental slip on his part. The second was that he had actually almost made a joke with her. Unfortunately, she was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to keep the kitten alive to notice.

***

Professor Snape and Hermione did not meet on Monday to discuss her project because of a Quidditch game. Hermione was frustrated, but not quite upset yet. Wednesday, Professor Dumbledore had decided was a free day, and so nobody had to attend the last class of the day. Snape noticed that Hermione seemed a little more uptight and worried than usual, but he assumed that it was probably because she felt that she was being cheated out of an education. By Friday, he knew that something was wrong, even though Hermione refused to tell him what. She was switching between frustration, guilt, panic and Gryffindor determination. Still, it was best to let her take care of her own problems.

He was regarding her with a look of disinterest from his podium turned desk, scanning gently all the open parts of her mind in an attempt to determine her motives. It was cheating, but he had grown used to doing a mental checkup on her since her insanity. In any event, she didn't seem to mind too much. She was feeling... somewhat desperate at the moment. And distracted. That would have to be remedied before she went into what she wanted to do for a Seventh Year Project.

"Miss Granger," he began, using his silkiest voice, "might I remind you to keep your mind on the task? Now tell me what it was you want to do for a..." he frowned here, "'real' project? Since ground-breaking research into insanity wasn't good enough?"

"Oh..." she looked somewhat abashed. "It's not that what we did wasn't important--"

An impatient look was what she received. "Yes, yes. Continue before I become truly bored and find need to come up with... entertaining uses for you. Such as cleaning out the first years' ingredients shelves."

The horrified look on her face was worthy of a camera. Unfortunately, Snape had neither the camera nor the desire to take a picture. She took a deep breath, and tried again. "Animagus. I want to be an animagus."

Now it was Snape's turn to take a deep breath. He scowled, and his displeasure on this new subject was quite evident. "I believe you should be having this discussion with Professor McGonagall, who is the resident animagus and expert. Or Black," and he sneered horribly before continuing. "Contrary to popular belief, I am a vampire, not a basilisk." He was neither, of course, but it seemed like a good way to end this conversation now.

"But--"

"I said no, Miss Granger!"

Frustrated, Hermione studied Snape for several minutes. He had returned to grading Ravenclaw essays, the lines in his face seemingly etched in stone and uncompromising. "You're jealous," she said finally.

At the sound of this, Snape's head snapped up immediately. "Of whom, precisely?" His glare was truly formidable, but Hermione ignored it and looked past and into the man she knew was there. The man she could feel inside her mind, despite the fact that he had recoiled behind an icy wall of cold numbness.

"Of Black. That he's an animagus and you're not. That's where the feud began, wasn't it? The animosity, the hatred? The competition between one another? Sirius Black and James Potter were always one upping you, weren't they? First it was Lily, and then becoming animagi! They were the final nails in the coffin that sent you to the Death E--"

"Enough!" He slammed his quill down into the ink jar and threw the essays aside. Eyes glittering, mouth thin and nostrils flaring, his ire was enough to send even Hermione back in her chair, and she realized that perhaps she had spoken too close to the truth for Snape's comfort. "Yes, that's partly why I turned to the Death Eaters, but not the whole story. Not even close! And I suppose you know that, too, don't you? _Don't you?_"

Frightened, she shook her head meekly. This time she had gone too far.

"Well, then, I'm sure you want to know so that you can go gossiping it to Potter and Weasley? Then listen up, girl, because I'll tell you exactly why I'm such a monster. Why I'm such a hated, disgusting man! Yes, there was always Potter and Black. The antagonism between us was legendary. _They_ were always the heroes, popular and loved by all, while I was Snape. I was the first to become a Quidditch player, and then Potter decided he needed to be Merlin's gift to Gryffindor and become their seeker. I decided to befriend a small, lonely girl named Lily, and only then did Potter decided she was worthy of notice--and to steal her away from me and taint her mind with his foolish notions! Then they became animagi, dangerous and illegal at best, fatal at worst! Do you have any idea what could have happened because of their foolish one-upmanship? People could have died! _Died!_ And they almost killed me! What was worse was that Potter came out looking like the hero because of that whole werewolf incident, when it was partially his fault to begin with! 

He took a shaky breath and clawed his hands through his lank hair before continuing. "Then the Ministry came the year after I graduated and had a job for me, simply because I was Slytherin. Make no mistakes, Granger--there was no other reasoning behind it than that. I was to be a spy for the Ministry--to join the Death Eaters and try to corrupt them from within. You see, I was always a spy for Dumbledore--even from the beginning."

"But Harry said that they put you on trial--"

"Oh yes," and his laugh was truly tormented. "You see, the Ministry got the last laugh--and I couldn't even do anything! They had placed a Fidelis spell to make sure I always stayed loyal to the 'good' cause. I accepted their job because I in my stupidity thought I could be a hero just like Black and Potter always managed to be. But, you see, when I had decided I could stomach no more forced killing and the stench of fear and indignity, I returned back to Dumbledore and pleaded for my death. I would have killed myself if not for the fact that I felt even death was too good for me, and by this time, it was very unpopular to be a Death Eater--even to be a spy. The Ministry was not going to save my hide from the hell they had put me in--so they put me on trial instead. And Dumbledore spared me from Azkaban--but the Ministry allowed him to take me under his wings on the condition that I continued my actions as a spy. Covert, hidden by special cloaks and spells, of course, but still a spy the same. Remember that, _Miss Granger! The Ministry is just as treacherous as the Death Eaters were!_ Remember that there is a very thin line between good and evil, and that good crosses over into evil all the time."

Somewhere in the midst of Snape's speech, Hermione had walked over towards him, and when he stopped, he realized that something--_somebody_ had wrapped their arms around him in the most selfless act of compassion they could think of. Surprised, he stiffened up and tried to push her away--until he got lost in the emotions of comfort and understanding that Hermione had woven around his mind. Not just sympathy, but true empathy, for Hermione knew exactly what he had gone through--had experienced it with him as he had the events again and again in his mind. And after all that, she was still willing to hug him, hold him! Knowing nothing else to do, he buried his face in her hair and allowed her to rub his back and comfort him. The irony that it was now she taking care of he escaped him, and they stood locked in that embrace for a long, long time. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he murmured into her ear, "Yes, I'll help you." Warm lips pressed ever so softly against his cheek, and she pulled back hesitantly. And then, she remembered the kitten--

"Oh, no!" Hermione whispered and pulled away. "Oh, no no no!" She ran into his office and through the wards that led to their quarters, a confused and hurt Snape following brusquely behind, determined to find out what her sudden change of heart was all about. He found her in her room, bending frantically over a blanket filled box and in distress so strong he was sure he would have felt it even if he and she hadn't been mentally bound. In the box was a tiny, still figure of something that didn't appear to be breathing or even alive at all. Snape recognized the tiny kitten as the source of Hermione's weeklong torment, and almost forgave her for rejecting him so suddenly. 

"Move aside, you foolish girl," he growled and bent over the kitten. The question was: was it alive or dead? If it was still even slightly alive, he might be able to save it, but if it was dead...

"I... Wanted to get you a familiar because you don't have one and I thought I'd make it a gift, but Filch dumped it on me without even letting me wean it from Mrs. Norris--I couldn't get it to drink or eat anything but I didn't want to--"

There was nothing more obnoxious than hysterics from an otherwise sensible girl. "Quiet!" he hissed, and pressed his ear against its tiny chest. Perhaps the cat was both alive and dead? No, he could hear a heartbeat ever so faint... Without hesitating, Snape picked up the kitten and walked over to his shelves, searching through bottle after bottle for something like a weakened version of the Pepper Up potion. Finally, he settled on watering it down with milk of magpie and administered it to the kitten via a tiny dropper. The kitten reacted immediately, and seemed to revive somewhat. It was back to mewing faintly, and Snape smirked at Hermione, who looked as though he had just perfumed some kind of miracle. "Kittens," he began, "can't just drink any kind of milk. Your cow's milk probably doesn't have all the important nutrients this little creature needs, Hermione." He walked over to his library turned Hermione's room and began to scan the masses and masses of fascinating volumes. His fingers finally came to rest on a thick one that specialized in creatures of the Pantherinae, Acinonyxchinae and Felinae subfamilies. He skimmed through the pages until he found a recipe for a suitable milk substitute and within minutes had expertly whipped up a batch of kitten food in a cauldron. 

Almost tenderly, he heated up the substance comfortably, and then began to feed it to the starving kitten via a flask that he had conjured up a nipple-like stopper for. "You probably tried to feed it from a bowl, didn't you?" Hermione nodded, embarrassed that for once, she hadn't had the correct answer, and hadn't been able to find it in such an obvious place as the library. "Kittens this young, even partially kneazel kittens, are still too helpless for that. They need to be fed like this for a few weeks. See?" 

She watched as he fed it, and stroking the kitten gently along its spine, and murmuring inaudible words to it. Who would have suspected that Snape would have a soft spot for little kittens? "You should have come to me when you began to have problems getting her to eat, Hermione. Even if it meant that you had to admit that there was something you finally couldn't do..."

"You're not mad?" She looked somewhat guilty.

Snape chose not to answer this, but instead responded, "Quantum. I think I'll call her Quantum Cat." He smirked. "A very appropriate name, given the circumstances." Satiated, the black and copper kitten fell asleep in the crook of his arms, and if Hermione hadn't known any better, she would have sworn she saw a slight smile form on the corner of his lips.

******************************************************************************************

"Schrodinger's cat

Schrodinger's cat is a famous illustration of the principle in quantum theory of superposition, proposed by Erwin Schrodinger in 1935. Schrodinger's cat serves to demonstrate the apparent conflict between what quantum theory tells us is true about the nature and behavior of matter on the microscopic level and what we observe to be true about the nature and behavior of matter on the macroscopic level. 

First, we have a living cat and place it in a thick lead box. At this stage, there is no question that the cat is alive. We then throw in a vial of cyanide and seal the box. We do not know if the cat is alive or if it has broken the cyanide capsule and died. Since we do not know, the cat is both dead and alive, according to quantum law, in a superposition of states. It is only when we break open the box and learn the condition of the cat that the superposition is lost, and the cat becomes one or the other (dead or alive). 

We know that superposition actually occurs at the subatomic level, because there are observable effects of interference, in which a single particle is demonstrated to be in multiple locations simultaneously. What that fact implies about the nature of reality on the observable level (cats, for example, as opposed to electrons) is one of the stickiest areas of quantum physics. Schrodinger himself said, later in life, that he wished he had never met that cat. "

--http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/0,,sid9_gci341236,00.html

Hope you guys all liked that.... 

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	2. Examinations of the Soul

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The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?

by Ibex's Lyre

Ha ha! I'm back. I think. I hate learning, but I love it. 

**Chapter Two: Examinations into the Soul**

"When thinking of the year 1907, it is always important to remember the North American Pixie embargo. However, this information will most likely not be on the NEWTS. It was jut another important fact in Magical history and should be interesting to note that this was the cause of the 1931 Toronto Near Pixie Blight that almost affected a small muggle community in the North American..." Professor Binns continued to drone on. A sigh escaped Hermione's lips as she continued to watch the snow flit out past the high Hogwarts windows and pile up against centuries old panes. _Probably magic induced, too,_ she thought sourly.

Harry and Ron were far too deep in the History of Magic stupor to be of some intellectual relief (though the thought in itself was good for a small chuckle) and Snape--was busy yelling at some fourth year Ravenclaws. Besides, he had been rather upset the last time she'd tried to mentally communicate with him. It was best to pretend the bond didn't exist because Snape's temper was sarcastic at best, and it was very hard to tell, even with the empathy and telepathy just how, exactly, he'd react to something. So, as the snow fell down in soft, thin layers and seemed to beckon to Hermione, she wondered what it was like to be a deer running through the forests now. 

It was ironic--the same thoughts less than a month ago would have been called insanity. Now they were named imagination. For a brief moment, she pondered the thin line between insanity and reality, but finally contented herself to wander the forest as a quadrapedal creature with soft fur. The slamming of multiple History of Magic textbooks brought her back to reality. Quickly, she gathered her things and followed her two friends out of the classroom and towards the Gryffindor common room.

***

Hermione supposed that now that she was capable of taking care of herself, she was probably supposed to move back into the Gryffindor tower as she would have at the beginning of the year. However, as none of the teachers had suggested it, her room was still located in Snape's former library. Still, now that she was sane again, she found that much of her free time was once again centered around her two best friends, Harry and Ron. With a great sigh that could have been of either relief or regret, she plopped herself down in front of the roaring fireplace and began to do her History of Magic homework.

"Old Binns finally gave up teaching us useless information!" Ron chortled and glanced over at Hermione. An over-exaggerated groan escaped his lips when he saw what she was working on. "Oy! You don't get out of a class an hour early just to do its homework! You might as well have not gotten out early!"

"Yes, Hermione," Harry agreed and gave her a friendly push. "You might want to relax a bit before you have to go to Transfigurations."

Hermione frowned and looked at both of them. "Do either of you even know what we're going to be doing in Transfigurations today?"

She knew what the answer would be even before she saw Ron break out into a friendly grin. "No."

"Oh," she said, looking thoughtful. "Because we're going to have a quiz on it."

That statement sufficiently chastised the two boys into at least looking through their previous notes, which was more than they would have, otherwise. Sufficiently contented that the two were occupied, Hermione put down her History of Magic homework and pulled out a leather-bound book that looked like it had been read through by many other students in the vain hope of becoming Animagi. If dropped, there were many pages on the actual process of the transfiguration that the book would have opened to. Hermione was not reading one of these. Instead, she was focused on a curious, often overlooked passage:

__

Perhaps the most difficult part of the magic is not the knowledge of the animals or the procedure. Rather it is the knowledge of self that is most vital...

But what, exactly, did that mean? She pondered the excerpt silently, tuning out the noise of so many students in such a confined space all excited about getting out early from class. How would knowing yourself be most vital? In normal transfigurations, even in the more complicated stuff that they were studying now, it was the amount of concentration and knowledge of the procedure that counted most, not knowing what you were capable of. Although, she supposed that that aspect was helpful in giving the person confidence to carry out the transfigurations, something Neville lacked in Potions class. Which was why she suspected he did so poorly. 

Time passed rather quickly, and it was a short while before Hermione was sitting in her seat next to Harry and Ron, taking notes as fast as they appeared on McGonagall's chalkboard. Transfigurations class was very different than it used to be--Professor McGonagall had seemed to do more lecture that delved into the theories behind the magic than she had before. While the Transfigurations Professor insisted that it was because they were dealing with very powerful magic, Hermione secretly suspected it was mostly because the polar bear incident. A small smile crossed her lips as she relived the memory; she had to say that that was one of her more interesting memories. Still, even then it brought up questions she had yet to answer about the nature of the bond she shared with her Potions Professor. For example, was it possible to--

There was an undercurrent of impatience that spread from outside of her mind through her thoughts, making Hermione mentally cringe. Trust Severus to bring her back to reality just when she was on to something interesting.

__

It is always helpful to pay attention in class! he snapped at her, causing her to cringe and miss ironic statement McGonagall said about how vital concentration was. With an exasperated mental hiss, Snape used an old trick that had been most helpful in keeping Hermione's mind from wandering when it wasn't supposed to. _You can daydream all you want later For now, I suggest you pay attention!_ _And you can expect Gryffindor to be missing fifteen points next time you look._

She made a face and looked up at McGonagall, who was looking down at her impatiently. "I trust you were having a good daydream, Miss Granger?"

She blushed and opened her mouth to utter something in her own defense, but McGonagall's frown deepened. "I am very disappointed in you, Miss Granger. This is something I would have expected from Mr. Zabini or Mr. Weasley but not you! Ten points from Gryffindor. Now answer me..." Hermione sighed and wished the day would finally end. 

It couldn't have been soon enough for her to find herself finally returning to the dungeons for her last period of the day: her seventh year project. It was nearing Christmas Break, when she would go home (on her parents demands), and they still had no real progress on her attempts to become an animagus... Which was probably to be expected, since neither had any real experience in the matter, but was still so very frustrating! 

When she walked into the Potions Classroom, Snape was gleefully putting unfavorable marks on various essays in crimson ink (some kind of twisted slight against Gryffindor, she supposed) and spared her no glance. In a characteristically Snapish manner, he continued to grade papers and force Hermione to wait on him. Resigned to her fate, she sighed, wishing that for once he wouldn't place his little power games. So she opened up her old leather book and continued to read from where she had left off. An impatient command pulled her out before she could get very far, though.

"Well?" Snape snapped, his waspish voice pulling Hermione's face towards him.

Confused, Hermione stared up at him for a few seconds, instinctively reaching out for his mind and shifting through his short term memory as easily as she did her own. Somewhat amused, Snape let her do so.

"Oh," she said softly when she figured out what he wanted to know. "I was just thinking about what I had read earlier. About transfiguring."

"And that was important enough to not pay attention in a class that could have potentially helped you derive the answer to your question?"

A sigh escaped her lips. She had no answer to give; at least, none that Snape would want to hear. Sensing this, Snape put down his quill and walked over the desk Hermione was at. "Now," he said n his silky voice, "what is it you found that was so important?"

As Snape knew she would, Hermione instantly brightened and switched gears. Predictable girl, so intent on learning! Hermione pulled the book open to the particular passage that had so vexed her and showed it to him. "What do you think of it?" she asked as he scanned the text quickly with his eyes and analyzed the worlds. When he had read it a few times, he allowed a cynical smile to form on his lips. "Why Hermione, I should think it perfectly obvious--to a Slytherin, anyway. Perhaps it is too subtle for the Gryffindor mind, though..."

A flash of anger through her mind and she glared indignantly at him. 

"Sir, I believe it is saying that you have to know your own personality before you can transform--"

"Very good, Miss Granger," he crooned condescendingly. "Next time try not to pull the answer from _my_ mind. Do you understand why?"

"I think it is because your personality defines what animal you are," came her response as she frowned and searched for answers. Forth came a flash of memory, half forgotten and dreamed insanity. _Remember to talk to your inner animal; she can tell you more about who you are than you can..._ What had the two sirens been playing at?

"Your personality does, perhaps, define what creature you'll be. There is a reason," Severus sneered, "That McGonagall is a cat and _Black_," he made the name sound filthy, "is a _dog_. Very few people know themselves well enough to transfigure."

"Do you?" she queried, figuring that he did.

Instead of affirming her assumption, Hermione was surprised to see him stiffen visibly. "I never saw the need to peruse the art of Transfigurations beyond what I already knew. Besides, Miss Granger, if I had, I would have needed supervised. If I had succeeded, I would have been forced to register my animal form anyway."

Hermione looked at him for a few minutes, considering. At the same time, he was studying her silently, measuring her worth. Finally he frowned and settled back at his desk to grade more papers, leaving Hermione to herself. She was thinking, analyzing, wondering who she was. After a long time, she looked up at Severus and cocked her head slightly to the side. "So what do we do from here?"

"I think, Hermione, that you need to get to know yourself far better than you do now. I want an essay one and a half feet long by Friday." Surprised, Hermione stared up at him and watched him smirk down at her. "Oh, yes. We won't even begin to attempt anything until that paper is written. And remember, since this is a project, I believe you have yet to give me a paper on your research into the matter, including a works cited and a cover page--" he made a clearly sour face when something in his robes began to move. "It seems it is time for supper." Ignoring Hermione's raised eyebrow Severus took the black and copper kitten, which seemed to have doubled in size, out of his robe's inner pocket.

"Why sir," Hermione said with a grin, "if word got out that you were keeping a kitten in your pocket..."

"Gryffindor would most likely never recover from the lack of points." 

Hermione wasn't fooled by his snarky attitude. She could feel the waves of tender care and concern for the cat roll from his mind and was surprised to feel a pang or something--foreign. Jealousy? No, she was sure that wasn't it. It was a longing that she knew so well and yet had managed to keep repressed until now. Hermione buried the emotions once more that threatened to consume her, and locked them back in the depths of her mind. If Severus had noticed anything, he certainly didn't show it.

Quantum mewed piteously until he gingerly cradled her in the crook of his arm and allowed her to suckle from one of his specially prepared flasks. "We're going to start weaning you soon, you irritating endless stomach," he said in a voice that Hermione had never before heard. He glanced up at her suddenly as if he had heard her say something and regarded her. "The kitten, of course, needs constant care every few hours. It is only logical to keep her in my presence at all times... but you wouldn't know that... Your repulsive excuse for a member of the feline-kneazle family was fully grown when you got him."

Memories from only a short while ago crept back into Hermione's mind and made her blush. She still felt somewhat guilty for not knowing how to properly take care of a kitten. Snape noticed this, of course. Quantum was much annoyed when he pulled her tiny claws from his arm and dropped her tenderly into Hermione's lap. Surprised, she automatically began to make fair imitation of a cat's purr until Quantum settled back in as though she had always been in Hermione's lap and she couldn't figure out why everybody was looking at her. Once the makeshift bottle was pack up to her tiny mouth, Quantum had no complaints to give concerning her treatment and held no grudges. After a few minutes Hermione was finally relaxed enough to glare back up at Severus, who continued to smirk back at her, amused at her discomfort.

When Severus had decided his kitten had had enough to eat he removed Quantum from Hermione's lap and deposited the now annoyed kitten into a litter box strategically located in an inconspicuous place. "Grab your things and put them away, Miss Granger," he said becoming formal once more with a mischievous look just beneath the surface of his malachite eyes. "As much as I do not wish to leave my domain, it is approaching dinner, and Dumbledore did..." the sour look returned.

"Professor Dumbledore did what?" Hermione asked, interest piqued.

"Bound me to an agreement saying that I would be present for at least two meals a day in the Great Hall, in an effort to ensure that I 'have a chance to enjoy the company of others of my own kind.'" His complete and utter dismay was too much for Hermione to not laugh. "That will be another five points, Miss Granger," he snarled in a silky, low voice even as she continued to chortle. When she did not stop even after threats of point loss, he swooped over to where she was in an effort to intimidate her by his sheer size. Sensing this, she attempted to sidestep him, which he sensed in return and moved to counter. They continued to read each other's moves from the other's mind until Severus finally got frustrated with the stalemate and grabbed her shoulders to hold her still. He looked down at her happy, flushed face, about to say something until he realize that seeing her happy like that made him... relieved that nothing had happened to her Halloween night. Underneath his hands and the fabric of her clothing, he could feel her strong heart pump blood through her body, and her own smaller ones on his wiry chest drawing him closer. Lips parted ever so slightly as the distance between the two slowly became smaller and smaller until they finally met--

Quantum, not knowing what harm she was doing, had finished using the litter box and jumped back onto Severus using her tiny claws to climb up into her favorite spot in the inner pocket of Severus' robes. Both humans all but jumped away from each other, Hermione red faced and looking anywhere but at Severus, and Severus glaring spitefully into his pocket. "Ouch, you mangy piece of Fluffy bait!" he hissed at the now frightened kitten who couldn't figure out what she had possibly done wrong. When he felt that the kitten had been sufficiently cowed, he glanced at Hermione next, who was facing away from him. "Come, Miss Granger. Dinner is waiting." As they walked to the great hall in uncomfortable silence with minds hidden as best as possible from each other, both wondered what might have been if nothing had happened.

###

Wind... Like wind blowing through jagged rocks, creating eerie music that danced around her closed eyes. It was one of those dreams where she knew she was sleeping, but couldn't do anything to wake up. For a moment, she was utterly terrified that this time she would never wake up from the illusion and this dream world. But she found her lion heart and opened her eyes to--the snow covered forests exactly as they had been during Professor Binn's Class... except that there were no mountains. _No!_ she realized suddenly. She was _on _the mountains!

Questions floated on the wind, dancing to the strange sad winter song.

__

What must I do?

Why am I here?

Who am I?

As the snow drifted around her, she sensed that she was not alone. On the other side of the mountain there was another person, whose domain was dark and hidden and yet a part of her own. Somebody was there in the darkest regions of the land, whose pain was great and numerous, who knew no companion and whose sole wish was to be alone.

The darker side of her.

A voice drifted on the wind, silent, contemplating, half and whole, seemed to resonate down the valley and speak only truth. 

__

Every minute that passes marks another day forever from the calendar  
The deep sleep of ice is coming in the whirlwind darkness  
Glazed, laced crows of twilight shake their glossy wings  
And cry the songs of the end of life  
Birth of death  
Those who are prepared shall not want for warmth when the snows come across this enchanted land.

The voice seemed to be coming from the great snowy heights. Perhaps remnants of Raidne in her mind? Though Hermione doubted this she followed it the sound anyway, searching for answers in the world of white and evergreen. Unfortunately she made the mistake of passing one of the dark places, waking the spirits inside. Winged creatures great and small flew from the rocky place, disturbed and angry. For a moment, Hermione thought they would consume her, but they--didn't. Surprised by the fact that nothing had happened to her, Hermione looked into the cave and realized that this must be the domain of the other. But then she felt a few pieces of her mind buried deep within, and knew that if she looked, she would fin part of herself there in the darkness.

Now there was something else next to her, and when she turned to look she almost thought she found what she had been searching for--saw it--

A terrified gasp escaped her lips as she sat up and realized she was not where she should have been. The fireplace next to her, comfortable chair underneath meant that she could only be in on e place: the Gryffindor Common Room. And the towering, glaring, angry figure above her could only be Professor Snape. Indeed, just as Hermione suspected, he was not in the best of moods, and that was saying it lightly. He was frowning down at her malevolently and looking like he was not about to sympathize with any excuse she came up with. So Hermione did what anybody else would have in her position and silently followed the shadow darkened man out of the room and back towards the dungeons dreading ever minute that passed by. She could not help but notice the faint scent of outside that trailed from his clothing, and wondered where he had been. Someplace distressing enough, something dim and quiet whispered in her mind, to upset him and cause him to burn silently in fury. Not her fault, then.

The kitten had not been with him wherever he had gone; she realized this as soon as she heard her crying pitifully from behind the door of his bedroom. When Snape did nothing to calm the cat, when he simply continued to scowl expectantly at her for unknown answers, Hermione took the liberty to enter his quarters and cradle the cat without his permission. Quantum calmed instantly and began to purr as she alternately bit and batted at Hermione's fingers, acting as the unknowing buffer between the two. And the silence dragged on. One minute. Two. Half an hour they stood, waiting for somebody to be cowed, to admit defeat, to give up and cower at the will of the other. Knowing that this could not go on forever, it was Hermione who finally broke the silence. "I expect you wish to know why I was there and not here?"

Snape's scowl deepened, and he took a menacing step towards her, which she ignored. The step reinforced the smell of oddness that Hermione had sensed before. Still, no connection could be easily made, other than the smell on him made her uneasy. "Do you have any idea what time it is, you impertinent little girl?" Curious, as she did not, Hermione looked up at the clock. While she was surprised to see it was long past curfew, she was not distracted by this new piece of information. 

"Almost two in the morning. Today is Thursday. You are going to be particularly miserable today in cla--"

"That's enough!" He was right up to her, his height impressive in his fury. Despite all of this, Hermione was in no way worried that he would hurt her. At least, not in a physical sense. "You were up long past curfew, asleep, which meant that I had no way to find you or track you down. You could have been anywhere, and there would have been nothing I could have done to find you. There is a curfew for a reason, you silly girl! What if," and he was trembling with suppressed rage now, "what if some of Voldemort's old supporters decided to make an example out of you for killing their precious master? Or worse, decided to use you to father another monster? It doesn't take a virgin, despite what you may think," he said as he eyed her shrewdly and noted with some dim delight the remark ripped right through all of her defenses and emotions like a razor. "Only somebody of strong enough mind and will to fight every second of every horror, and a vendetta."

She stared up at him, voice refusing to give birth to the silent words her lips formed. Trembling hands upset Quantum, who mewed in annoyance and squirmed out of Hermione's grasp hoping to leap into Snape's. Finally, Hermione found some sort of control and resolve deep in her core being, and shoved the kitten into Snape's arms before she stormed to her room and slammed her door shut. The last words she uttered before she lost her voice forever were: "I can take care of myself, _Professor!_ I took care of you, didn't I? Where would you be if I had not come and saved you from your Dark Lord?"

And the wind calling through the fireplace cried tears of regret.

**********************************************************************

Sort of a short chapter, I know, but an appropriate place to stop before I go onto the next. I thank you all for your patience; the last few weeks have been sheer and utter hell, with no time left for me to translate what I wrote in my notebooks onto my computer. These next few weeks should be a little less hectic--at least, that's what I'm hoping for.

littlemandyralph- I've updated as soon as was possible. Real life is horrible sometimes, but I didn't mean to leave you all hanging like that. I hope this next chapter lives up to your expectations, even though it is late.

Bellemaine Chercoeur- Wow, you gave my last chapter way too much credit. I really am embarrassed. Also, I was looking back at old_ Lady of Shalott _chapters, and it made me realize that no matter how many times you proofread something, errors still do appear. *Groan!* One of these days… One of these days I really am going to go through read all of my stuff just to correct minor annoyances.

Daniexpress- Thank you! Even if it doesn't always seem that way, I do try.

Alia- Lol, that wonderful vote of confidence makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Aurinia- I agree- Severus sometimes reminds me of Filch in that yes, I can see him with his own little precious "Mrs. Norris." And I think that the relationship will certainly be an interesting one. As much as Severus feels as though he should be taking care of her, Hermione feels like she should be taking care of him. Neither realize just quite how both have become dependent upon the other and subconsciously function as one mind--even though they both retain their original personalities.

LoPotter- Quantum loves attention. That's why she just chewed through Severus' favorite quills and knocked over all his potions vials.

Tracy- I can't always guarantee speedy updates, but I write in notebooks during my spare time. I really don't feel good about posting unless I have about 4000-5000 words up, either, so sometimes it takes a little while. I thank you for your patience, though!

Rosebud- YOU laughed, but Severus did not! He had to wash his pillows after that! Needless to say, he was impossible to live with for the next few days.

Kat63- P-Fysics is fun and so is Chemistry. And Severus looks cute with kittens in his pocket.

Eowowiel- wow--that really makes me feel so good! I hope my work continues to be worthy of your admiration!

Tegan- Oh, you'll be pleasantly surprised when we make it to the actual transformations! I think I've outdone myself there, and there is so much potential for humor! (I'm chuckling and running through exactly what I'm going to write when I get there… but I have to get there first!). And watch out for when Severus calls Hermione Hermione, and when Hermione calls Severus Severus (or Professor) because it switches when they feel comfortable with each other, or when they are upset.

Majestic Witch- here you go, another chapter. :)


	3. Broken Boughs

**The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?**

**by Ibex's Lyre**

  
  
  


 Hmm…

I once said I would never apologize for what I wrote and what I did, but there are limits to even my audacity. I am sorry, everyone. I got tied up in school, got tied up at home. I lost passion, and didn't know how to carry on. Even two days ago, I sat down and realized that the story was not going to follow my new plans and ideas. But the story does go on, so there is hope. There is always hope, even when the world seems black, when all turns to barrenness.  Which is why Snape… lies.  

Tegan, you said you love the bond they share? I'll have to disappoint you for a while, I fear. But don't worry, as always, nothing is really as it seems in this story.

Speaking of Snape… You would think that there would be at least SOME stir on the fact that Voldemort is now dead and that Snape was involved, no? Sadly, sadly, I'm too lazy to write about that. Just pretend Snape threatened to Obliviate the next reporter that came near him with an acid green quill.  ; )

"The Two Trees" is by William Butler Yeats. The poem in its entirety is very pretty. I wish I could write like that.

_For ill things turn to barrenness_

_In the dim glass the demons hold,_

_The glass of outer weariness,_

_Made when God slept in times of old._

_For there, through the broken branches, go_

_The ravens of unresting thought;_

_Flying, crying, to and fro,_

_Cruel claw and hungry throat,_

_Or else they stand and sniff the wind,_

_And shake their ragged wings; alas!_

_Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:_

_Gaze no more in the bitter glass._

  
  
__

**Chapter Three: Broken Boughs**

Drip…

Drip…

Drip… drip… drip………………

Eyes silver in the moonlight, dilated and unresponsive came slowly into focus. Numbed and heavy limbs brushed lightly against the walls of the tiny cell she called her bedroom. Skin pricked against the cruel cold of the drafty dungeons, and made her shiver. Intelligence, cleverness… all awoke rapidly as her eyes scanned her surrounding and remembered. There was a grating sound behind her, as though somebody were approaching, and she turned on the suddenly tangled blankets reaching for her wand, but her body responded too slowly. A hand came from around behind and gently pressed a damp cloth to her nose. Eyes went dim as her form sunk back to the bed. In the moonlight, a black robed man caught Hermione's head before it hit the headboard, and eased her back underneath her covers.

He snorted in disgust, eyeing the untouched wand as carefully as though it were a venomous snake. Useful, yes, but there were other things much more reliable. "Really, Miss Granger, you should save your strength… Dream your little dreams until I get back." There was a long pause as he watched her before he finally pulled a squirming little mass of fur from one of the inner pockets of the dark black cloak he wore.  The kitten protested only until she was plopped against the warm flesh of the unconscious Hermione, and then began to purr softly. "Watch her, Quantum," he whispered as he scratched the little cat's head, "until she finds me. She will need… _company…_ when she realizes…" A grim, almost strained look came across his face as he contemplated events that had yet to happen. "If I see that she's taken any foolish notions into her head, you'll be using your tail to clean out my flasks until the fur falls off!"

Snape walked out of the room and out of the dungeons; the only thing that saw were the bright eyes of Quantum as she watched him leave.

***

Hermione woke up with a nightmarish headache and the strange feeling that she had been betrayed by somebody close to her.  It was bright out, and that seemed out of place, but she just couldn't say exactly why. In fact, all things considering, she really didn't feel like saying anything ever again. Not after the way she had been treated that Thursday morning for simply _falling asleep_.  She glared into the mirror she had tried so desperately to shatter once before, and ignored the curious kitten on the bed, despite her half a mind to hiss it away.

After a few minutes, she padded off to the bathroom she shared with Snape and stripped her clothes. Perhaps a shower would soothe her emotions and help think of why she felt like she was late--a completely foreign feeling to her. Hermione let the hot water flow all over her body, leaving her mind free to thought.  They were mostly dark thoughts, moodiness uncharacteristic to her, and she could only assume that it was the aftereffects of Snape in her mind. As Holier than Thou as always, he had made it clear that she was at fault, not he.  That she needed babysat. _That she was incapable of taking care of herself! _ The minutes seemed like seconds passing down the drain along with the water. Indeed, it was not until Crookshanks came rapidly clawing at the bathroom door before she finally decided that not even a shower was going to help her solve her problems.  So she dried herself off and opened the door, not so much to let Crookshanks in as to let herself out. 

Into Snape's room.  

In her state of inner anger, she had not paid attention, assuming that her cat would be smart enough to stay away from the likes of a man so dark and bitter that even light seemed menacing and sinister when folded around him.

_I am a not a dragon, I am a deer… _The memories came creeping back from a time when order made no more sense to her than chaos did now. Memories from when she had been on the other side of the mirror, when she had been afraid of breaking through to sanity. _But I am no deer, either, to be so easily frightened by a man who has become such a part of me._ The thought was somewhat startling, coming into existence on its own accord. It gave her the courage to brace herself for the oncoming storm she knew would come as soon as _he_ realized that she had invaded his sleeping quarters once more--but the hellstorm of fury never came.

Crookshanks was now purring with cat approval, trying to lead his owner into the room. _Come, come,_ he seemed to say. _Things are not as they should be._

"What's wrong?" she whispered to the cat and stepped hesitantly into the room. Somehow, it didn't feel like she was breaking her self-imposed vow of silence talking to a cat. Animals, after all, had been her friends when Harry and Ron couldn't understand what it was like to be Hermione Granger. And the moth and the mouse had been nice enough… Hermione shook her head clear of thoughts and looked around into the room Severus Snape, her savior, her tormentor.

The world was dark in there, despite the bright sunlight shining through the windows. _Of course,_ she thought sarcastically. _Why wouldn't it be?_  Another meow, and Crookshanks pointed in the darkest corner of the room, where Snape kept his desk, and where Quantum was now mewling piteously (she had apparently switched rooms during Hermione's time in the shower). And it was there she saw as she squinted to see better through the cutting darkness the figure of the man she so vehemently hated. Sitting more still than a scarecrow with a splintered pole through its spine. 

Crying?

A small, questioning tendril of thought probed the dark place in her mind that served as her link to his, but all she found was the same darkness. Now this worried her--as valiantly as Snape had ever tried to block his thoughts and mind off from her access, his thoughts were too vitriolic and powerful to be completely contained. _Something_ always managed to leak through, even if it was just the normally angry undercurrents of his emotions.

The shuddering of his form came stronger, and the awful noise emitted from his tortured throat came louder. Not crying, no. Laughing. At her. 

"So, Miss Granger, prodigy of the Wizarding population--but after _Potter_, of course--you'll talk to a flea ridden half-member of rodentia, but not to humans. How… invalidating." Angered at his daring to laugh at her and make fun of her cat, Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it. Why waste words on somebody so clearly unworthy of them? This only caused Snape to snort again. "Not even going to defend yourself? How, _girl_" and he emphasized this with as much glee as he would belittling a first year, "are you ever going to know yourself well enough to become an animagus or a Gryffindor when you don't even have the courage to speak in your own defense?"

Imaginary fur bristled at that comment, and if hadn't been so angry, she would have realized she was still in nothing more than a bathrobe. In fact, his comment was almost worthy of her using her voice. Almost.

_Funny now, _she shot back at the empty void where his thoughts should be, _I'd almost given up on _that_ project. _But her mental dialogue seemed to echo into nothingness.

"What's that, Miss Granger? I couldn't hear you. You see, last night I researched a way to sever this bond of ours you are so dependant upon." A sickening smile came across his face as the horrified realization finally dawned across Hermione.  "Oh yes," he said in a silky voice, "it's a shame I didn't run across this potion when the Weasley twins were still running around.  But I didn't think you'd mind since your actions seem to indicate that you'd prefer your privacy, anyhow. Sneaking off in the middle of the nights to places you thought I would never find you? I am not a fool, Miss Granger. I know you in your little, spiteful nature, have gone twice to visit Hagrid in the middle of the night and once as far as the edge of the Forest--and all since I last caught you in the Gryffindor Common Room _without my permission!_"

As much as Hermione wanted to deny these accusations, she could not. They were true. Defeated, she slowly slumped her shoulders and bowed her head, resigning her to a grim future… alone. _Alone! _The thought seemed as unbearable as insanity! She was alone, alone, alone, alone-- But Snape was not done chastising her.

"What's the matter, Miss Granger?" Snape continued in his silky, terrible voice. "I rather thought you wanted your privacy. Besides, I'm sure your parents," and the disdain in his voice cut through her like a knife, "will be more than happy to hear the good news. You should tell them while you're blabbering away at home, perhaps before you reiterate to them what a horrible monster I am. Before you get your little Christmas gifts. Maybe that way they'll get you something more for your traumatic little troubles." 

Snape finally stood up, and for the first time, Hermione could see what a wreck he was. His clothes were unwashed, his hair filthy. He looked as though he had been to hell and back searching for answers, and had found none. It was ironic that for as much time as she had spent with his mind she still didn't understand him or what he was trying to do for her. That it didn't come up as odd as the fact that he was actually _severing _her mind from his, when by all rights, he should be finding more ways to keep track of her--if what he had said that fateful Thursday morning was indeed correct. If she was the possible target of those who once supported the dead Dark Lord in hopes to gain power. The two had more in common than they liked to believed, had more invested in each other than they cared to admit, and yet the closer they came to caring about one another, the further they drove each other apart.  Why?

Empathy.

Irony. 

Deception.

Subterfuge.

Insanity of sanity; order in chaos.

When they could have reached out to each other and have felt complete at last, they instead chose to push the other away.

"And put some clothing on, you drown spawn of a _siren_."

The pain cut closer than she chose to recognize.  Hermione held her head high and left his room, slamming the door as hard as she possibly could.  Even still, she could hear his comment resonate through the thick oak. And when he didn't follow to make sure she stayed out of trouble, she let her head rest upon the cold stone walls and whispered the first word that came to mind. 

"Bastard."

***

In some ways, it was easier to leave the castle and him now that he had severed the ties, Hermione mused silently as she packed her stuff up for the winter break. At least she was finally getting to go home. Home. The word sounded nice, nicer than any winter balls, nicer than anything she could think of. Besides, who wanted to go to a stupid dance anyway? Not she. Not since…

"Ha!" she grumbled to herself, and checked the time. She'd have to say goodbye to Harry and Ron and dear, dear Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall before she left, too. It was, after all, only Snape that she refused to say a word to, not anybody else. That might interfere with her studies, and she would hate to miss out on knowledge just out of stupid spite. It was only a matter of hours before Hermione found herself sitting in front of her old bedroom window watching as the snows fell into the darkness of night.

  
  


It was a long time after ten when her mother came in to look on her child. Mrs. Granger was a short, feisty woman who looked old but not too aged. Her eyes sparkled with love and affection as she waited patiently for her daughter to notice her through the doorway. When many minutes more passed in silence, Mrs. Granger finally did sigh and speak.

"It's a relief to see you sane again. Last time we met, you didn't even know who I was," she said in an attempt to begin a friendly conversation.

"I'm sorry, mum," came Hermione's whisper. 

"What's wrong, child of mine?" Mrs. Granger asked after a long silence ensued, and joined Hermione on the quilted bed. "You were never this quiet before…"

And Hermione did but shake her head. "It's just…" _Just what?_ she growled sarcastically to herself. _Tell my mum and she'll think I'm a pervert. Tell mum, and then I'll have to admit the truth to myself, and I'm not so sure I want to do that. It's nice sitting in self- pity, anyway. Who needs mental company? I was fine before, what makes it so difficult now?_ But the one thing Hermione never expected she'd feel was the loneliness, the emptiness that threatened to consume her as the snowflakes consumed the winter world outside her window.  As she let her mind drift back into the gentle storm outside, she heard her mother repeat the question, and knew she would have to make some sort of a satisfying answer. Mothers, after all, had a sort of telepathy of their own…

"It's just what, dear?"

"It's just that… Professor Snape got upset at me the other day because I accidentally fell asleep in my old Common Room and he couldn't find me. He said that I wasn't safe because of what I did… what I helped finish…" Her voice choked slightly at the memories of death. The oblivion that had been so eternal and absolute, that she couldn't even comprehend them. Her mother squeezed Hermione's arm gently with encouragement to continue. "But as much I love going home to you and dad, what makes here safer than the Gryffindor Common Room?"

Mrs. Granger laughed (as much out of relief as anything) when she heard Hermione. "Oh, is that what it is, dear? Well, you won't have to worry about that, now will you?"

"Why… Why not?"

"Because that nice Professor Dumbledore assured us that there would be plenty protection, as ever, to make sure you're safe at all moments, no matter where you go. Something about guardians and wards… or was it guardian wards? Anyway, don't you worry your pretty little head about it, everything's taken care of. In fact, why don't you have a nice cuppa in the kitchen to give you good dreams tonight?"

"Yes, mum." Perhaps something warm would cheer her up.

Mrs. Granger patted her daughter on the back and went off to discover what her husband was up to, and perhaps shepard him to bed. It had been a long day waiting for their daughter to return safely and sanely back, after all. With one more backwards glance to make sure Hermione had listened to her advice, Mrs. Granger disappeared from the room.

***

The Granger kitchen was neat and tidy; it had always been as such, and Hermione had no doubts that no matter what happened in her life, it always would be. It was warm, too: in the corner of the room, a small black oven filled with gently glowing embers provided the room with enough heat and light that Hermione did not have to waste any more energy to see what she was doing. She filled the old family tea pot with water and set it upon the black surface to heat, and continued her sentry's watch out the window that looked upon the snowy forest that sat on the edge of the somewhat smallish town her parents lived in. No, they weren't the wealthiest of dentists, but it beat living in a major city like London. Less pollution, less crime. And when she was lucky, she would sometimes spot small vestiges of wildlife… although more often than not, they were usually unmoving by the roadside…

"Mreow-ow?" It was Crookshanks pattering down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

While she waited for the water to warm, she searched through the cupboards for her favorite mug and paused to pet Crookshanks as he leapt up onto the kitchen counter and watched her with his moonlike eyes. In fact, he was a big comfort to Hermione, for he had not left her alone for any substantial amount of time ever since Snape had cut the bond. And now he sat there, like her guardian feline. For more than just the first time, she was glad she had gotten him and not some other familiar at the shop.

When the water was finally warm enough, Hermione took the kettle off the stove and poured the warm water into the mug. In the few moments it took for the tea to steep, she gave a final pat to Crookshanks and began to clean up what she had gotten, in order to assure that the kitchen remained as neat and tidy as before. As she sat down and finally began to sip it, she had to agree with her mother. Something warm _was_ nice at soothing nerves. And besides, had Professor Dumbledore ever let her and her family go unguarded before? But the question was: how? Truth be told, she had never once seen any evidence of any guardian angel for the Granger family before--or guardian wizard, as the case may be. And through she knew of many ways and wards a house could be protected with, she didn't exactly think of any that the Professor would use. He was, after all, a very odd wizard with quite a way of thinking. So how? 

"Mrrrr….?" Now Crookshanks was at the same window Hermione had looked out moments before, pawing at the glass panes, and staring fixedly at the great world outside.  _Probably wants to play with the snow like at Hogwarts,_ she thought, not paying much heed. Hermione went back to sipping her tea, but Crookshanks was rather insistent. With a sigh, she walked over to the window and began to pet him, searching for what he was so interested in. When nothing appeared for a few minutes, she clucked at the cat and shooed him off the counter--and saw out of the corner of her eyes something strange flitting past the window. 

"What?" she said as she squinted, trying to see where the thing had gone or even what it was.

_Maybe we should go outside?_

Had she thought that? Hermione gave Crookshanks an odd look, but the cat gave her a blank one in return and began to paw at the door. 

"Well, it seems like one of our minds are made up," she muttered as she grabbed her cloak and wand and went outside into the snow with Crookshanks.

The snow that swirled around the two was thick as a quilt but gentle and calm, bearing no other threats besides the cold and the wet. Her cat immediately began to pad towards the edge of the forest, expecting Hermione to follow. So she did, not wanting to lose her tom to a fox or a stray dog. Deeper and deeper into the forest they went, and Hermione could only marvel at how it had changed from the friendly playground she had remembered as a youth into the giant, indifferent entity it was now. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Sleeping, like even time was sleeping here in this world of white unchanging under the blanket of snow that covered the pines and all things uniformly. Farther into the midnight black forest, went the cat and the witch, searching for the shadows of the world.

Every now and then one of the denizens of the forest would wake up and stir, or the ever-present ravens of cold hatred would flap noisily above somewhere, but Crookshanks would always stop and wait for Hermione to catch up before running forward again to some hidden path. And in the darkness they followed the paths of swirling thought, till neither knew where one began or the other stopped. And it was here Hermione finally understood. Here she knew what the sirens had mocked her about. Inner animals, inner plants. To know what it felt like to be the might hazel, with roots eternally searching deeper and deeper into the blind ground even as her leafy branches sought the sunlight and the rain from above. To feel the sap run slowly against gravity like the nature magic it was. Or to know what it was like to be the fox that barked in the night and chased predators away from her kits as a sacrifice to the ever hungry demons of the night if only to allow her children to see one more dawn.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two finally stopped in a clearing. The cold, cruel-searing wind cut at her like a knife, but she did not feel it. Instead, she knelt to the world like an offering to the gods of the world long gone. And waited. Waited for that creature in the shadows to become evident, waited to see what the world was made of. 

************************************************************************

Okay, I wanted to get this posted ASAP, so I didn't have much of a chance to de-error it. : ) Please forgive any mistakes, I'll get to them as soon as I can. I felt that you people deserved to see this hot off the keyboard.

I want to thank all you people who have supported me, all my readers. I couldn't have done this without you.

-Ibex


	4. And the Fury Crows Spaketh How a Lion be...

**The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?**

**by Ibex's Lyre**

*SNICKER* I failed a thought check or something. I meant to put Hazel tree, but instead wrote Hickory in chapter 3. I fixed this error, along with some others I found.

Anyway, I know it's been a long time, so I'll just jog your memories: the quote at the very beginning in italics is way back in Chapter 1 of _The Lady of Shalott_, towards the end of the first dream sequence.  Actually, this chapter has quite a few references to the other story. That's why it's a sequel, I guess. I plan to weave this story into something infinitely longer than _The Lady of Shalott_ was, but I need time. I haven't even begun to get the main plot underway, deal with a lot of foreshadowing I used in the original story. However, I don't know exactly how my internet connection will be during the summer term, and one can never calculate the little snags of the soul that bog the translation from thought to story down, but I will try. And perhaps we shall see how the Ibex plays her Lyre.

**Chapter Four: And the Fury Crows Spaketh (How a Lion becomes a Leopard)**

****

****

She was not alone. How Hermione knew this, she was not sure, but she could feel it… Like shadows. Among the ash and the holly, the snow continued to gather as the cat and the woman remained still as the moss gathering stones around them. "What game _were_ they playing at?" she whispered, for she had realized in an instant that the sirens had teased and taunted her the entire time about her most sacred of all desires: to learn the secrets of the animagi. Ever since the first day of Transfigurations class, ever since she had first understood the raw _potential_ of being a witch. And the sirens, jealous of the mortal ways, had found a game to play with Hermione.

_It was an infusion of old ways with even older ways, her only chance for survival in this new world. Never, all three warned her, never offer your body even when it seems like it is the easiest way, because then you lose faith in yourself and lose sight of who you are and your inner animal, lose your hearing of the plants and trees. Never let them know that you can hear the plants and animals, and understand them, because then they will try to use you and then you'll be trapped forever._

Were they speaking the truth? Could she really hear animals, understand the thoughts of plants? The inner animal was clearly a reference to being an animagus, but who had ever heard of listening to it? Besides, as Snape had pointed out, the sirens were ever fond of messing in the world of wizards and magic. But try as she might, their words still echoed through her mind. Maybe, just maybe there was a little truth to the words they had spoken. Or perhaps, despite what everyone had hoped, perhaps she still was insane. "Why else would I be out here in the darkness during a December storm?" she asked Crookshanks, who merely purred.

The harsh cawing of ravens startled Hermione, and she looked up as two landed upon the stump of a fallen oak, and watched her intently. __

_But she is insane_,croaked one to the other, and cocked its head.

_But she is insane,_ agreed the other, and shook its wings nonchalantly.

_You'll not find your mind here,_ continued the first, and the harsh noises it emitted seemed to be laugher.

_No, we've never seen one of _your _kind ever,_ laughed the other one, even as Hermione threw snow at them and made the two fly away. When she was sure they wouldn't be coming back, she glared at Crookshanks.

"And why are you purring?" she hissed. If this was another fit of insanity, she was sure going to get answers. Who knew, they might come in handy.

_Because we're all waiting for your birth._

"Oh? And who are 'we'? And what are you talking about? I was born years ago!"

_You and I and he. We. _

Irrationally, Hermione wished Snape was there. To take care of her, to grab hold of her mind and make it sane again. To hold her like he had once before, so safe and tucked up against his robes and his chest. But he would never do that again because he had purposely severed his mind from hers. He had betrayed her. 

Still… Still, she it was almost as though she could feel his sarcasm, his mocking raise of an eyebrow, suggesting that she couldn't do it, that she couldn't transform her body. The thought, though somewhat reassuring, put a grim look on Hermione's face. Yes, that's exactly what Snape would do--belittle her every efforts and laugh at her most secret desires. Which was why she was going to transform, or horribly disfigure herself trying. Just to spite him. And he would probably call her a foolish little Gryffindor whelp afterwards, but the pleasure of using arcane knowledge to get results would be worth any humiliation he offered.

The grim look turned into a sneer, as she whispered, "Well Professor, we'll see who can do what after all." It no longer mattered whether she was just having delusions or not anymore; her mind was set on her task. 

The darkness stirred softly around her, as if waiting to see whether she would indeed succeed.

Who was she, anyway?

She was Hermione Granger, Daughter of Dentists. She was smart and outgoing, willing to share any knowledge she discovered with those who would listen. She was a witch, clever as they come, who loved life and learning. She was fierce and courageous, stealthy and strong in her own way. She had read the books on transfigurations, she had watched Professor McGonagall the few times the teacher had shown off her own ability. And she finally was sure she knew who she was.

It was cold, but she ignored even her own frosty breath. Inhale. Exhale. _I am not a dragon, nor am I a deer. I am sleek, intelligent, a hunter of the snows._ In the farthest reaches of her mind, there was a slight numbness. She didn't know what was supposed to happen, or what it would be like, but she stilled all her fears. Eyes closed, she continued. What had the mouse said? _It's not hard if I let you._ What was the difference between a mouse and a witch? As the urge struck her, she stretched and felt as though her spine became longer, her fingers shorter. The cloak she was wearing seemed to swallow her body, and where before she had only a small bone, she now had a long furry tail. When Hermione managed to crawl out of the oversized cloak, exhausted and overheating between her fur and its thick material, she had the dim sensation that she had succeeded… and that something had gone awry during the transformation. But she was novice, and could not hold her animal form for more than a minute before the human in her became evident once more, and fur became freezing flesh.

In the moonlight, to the sounds of happy purring, Hermione fell into the depths of oblivion. And she was right, something had gone awry.

After all, who had heard of a snow leopard with the draconic wings of a bat attached down its spine?

Dim glimpses, intertwined with feverish nightmares. Hell creatures with sneering expressions and glowing eyes.  Overlarge, leathery, webbed, and veined outer arms, and spotted furry inner arms… Demons dragging her through the forest with ire so strong, it filled her mind and threatened to burn away her very soul. But even in her nightmares, she dreamed that the mental bond had never been broken, and that somewhere somebody felt a bit of concern for her well-being.  That too faded back into darkness.

Hermione awoke to Christmas morning with the smells of warming cider in the air and puddings, and all things wonderful to be eaten--dimmed by the runny nose and the cold she was having the joy of experiencing. In fact, she felt rather ill. Compounded by the fact that it was nearly noontime and her parents had not yet bothered to wake her (or she them) when she had uncharacteristically slept the morning away, and the fact that she could not remember how she had wound up back safely in bed, she assumed that she probably was sick. Mysteries of mysteries, one that would probably never be solved, Hermione braced herself for the attempt of making it downstairs to where her parents would no doubt be waiting.

She was much relieved then when Mrs. Granger, with the psychic-ness of a mother, was to be heard coming up the stairs with Mr. Granger holding a armful of presents following behind.

"Oh, poor dear, you're finally awake! How are you feeling?" said Mrs. Granger, who set down a bowl of beef soup (presumably with chunks from the roast they must have made before they had realized that she was sick, Hermione mused) and pressed her hand on her daughter's forehead. The food smelled both good and nauseating at the same time, and Hermione was honestly not quite sure whether she wanted to devour the food or void the few contents of her stomach.

"Sick," was what she managed to respond with, and then looked around curiously. "Where is Crookshanks, mum? Dad?" She couldn't remember much of the previous night, or even if her cat was safe. A short lived pang of guilt rushed through her, to be killed by the memory of Crookshanksleading _her_ on, not the other way around.

Her father arranged her presents around the bed and helped prop the pillow up behind her back like a nervous hen, before pausing to answer. It almost made Hermione smile to think that after all these years, she was still her parents' little girl.  "That old tom? The silly thing had gotten himself locked outside last night, and is now claming the fireplace to be his own. He'll be fine after he warms up a bit. Now what do you say, shall we eat and open gifts? Crookshanks even brought you one!" he said with a smile.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Granger testily. "A beheaded bird of some sorts, the filthy creature. Now come on and see what St. Nicholas brought this year, shall we?"

Hermione smiled. Who wouldn't say yes?

After the presents were opened and wrapping paper discarded upon the floor in the very joyfully spirit of the season, Mr. and Mrs. Granger left their daughter to sleep off the sickness she had accumulated. So they closed the curtains and tucked her in, took down her tray and made sure she was safe. Her mother even jokingly suggested to check for redcaps and hinkypunks underneath the bed, but Hermione, with a sleepy smile, declined. It was a semi-desperate parental wish that their daughter wasn't growing up so quickly, and a way to assure themselves that Hermione was indeed safe and _sane._ And even though they chose to consciously deny it, somewhere deep in their minds they still wondered if they were the sane ones. After all, having a child witch who not only apparently was one of the more brilliant ones in the school, but also managed to get herself constantly in and out of impending doom every year without fail--let alone being friends with the supposed savior of the world was quite a bit of information to accept over morning tea. 

The warm sounds and familiar smells lulled Hermione into dreams of love and home. Somewhere between sleep and simple oblivion, Crookshanks entered the darkened bedroom to sleep on his mistress and rumble with feline comfort and concern. Everything was calm until--sometime in the early hours of the morning, Hermione woke up with the indescribable feeling that something was wrong with her body and that she would feel infinitely better if she simply ran as fast as she could to the--

Bathroom.

She waited until the waves of nausea subsided and her now empty stomach to calm before she dared to clean herself up. _It's amazing how exhausting being sick is_, Hermione mused as she slowly trudged back to her bedroom, alternately thanking and cursing the old house's thick walls that had apparently prevented her parents from hearing her sickness and coming to her aid. Well, it had saved her dignity, anyway, even if now she had to battle with a pounding headache and running nose. _You'd think being a witch would mean I'd be able to brew up some potion or think of some spell to cure me, but no…_ It would have to be a very comfortable day in hell indeed for Snape to teach his classes a potion that didn't have some inherent evil in it, and even she knew she had no interests in medicinal magic whatsoever…

"I guess I'm just stuck sick, with muggle medicine," she said to Crookshanks as she opened her closet to get another blanket for the bed. 

Two eyes glowed back at her from the darkness, making her gasp and jump back slightly. Only then did the curtain-thinned moonlight reveal the hell beast from her nightmares. The creature, with feline arms and huge, leathery wings, was hanging upside down from the bars that ran across her closet, with fangs revealed and a look of utmost contempt in its eyes. 

It glared at Hermione. Hermione stared back. And suddenly, a smile came across her lips. "I know what you are," she whispered to it. "I read about your kind in a book--although I must admit I never thought I'd find one in my closets. You're a wyvern, and Professor Dumbledore must have sent you." Puzzle solved, Hermione let her good humor show through. The triumph on her face diminished slightly, however, when she saw a sneer (she didn't even know bats _could_ sneer) began to form.

_35 points for your ineptitude, Miss Granger, and try again_, came the ghost of a whisper through her mind.

"Now I know I am sick, if ever there was doubt in my mind," she laughed quietly and patted the wyvern on the head. It hissed with marked displeasure. "I think I am going to sleep now, for I obviously need it. If you're hungry, there's food in the kitchen, and I still have some sweets left over from earlier…"

She crawled under her sheets and fell asleep almost instantly, leaving the wyvern to glare at her balefully from the darkness.

***

Morning came with a surprise--moreover, with her mother screaming up a storm. It awoke Hermione up with a fright and forced her to abandoning any pretense of feverish illusion as she realized that her mother was panicking and that there really _was _a wyvern in her closet. 

In a way, the sight was almost comical. Mrs. Granger had retreated to Hermione's doorway, alternately screaming for help and threatening the creature inhabiting her closet. The wyvern was hissing and flapping his wings malevolently, but remaining stationary in the closet.  Neither Mrs. Granger nor the wyvern seemed exactly pleased with the current situation, and Hermione was sure that if she didn't do something quick, neither would like the results.

So she rushed out of bed despite the protests from her stomach, and ran to her mother. "It's okay, it's okay mum!" she said breathlessly, hoping her voice of reason would pull her mother out of panic and into sanity. "He's my friend! Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore sent him to make sure I stay safe!"

The name 'Dumbledore' seemed to calm Mrs. Granger down slightly. "Why on earth would he send such a _beast?_ I mean, couldn't he have had the decency to send something more… human?"

The thought of Professor Dumbledore doing something so mundane made Hermione laugh. "Come on, mum, this is the same person who approves of Pumpkin Juice as a nutritious part of a balanced diet."

"I suppose," came the wary reply, as Mrs. Granger continued to size up the wyvern. "Although I still don't know why…"

"It's alright. He's… my friend. And he kept me good company throughout the night. Please let him stay?"

"…" came the reply, but Hermione knew she had won. Mrs. Granger finally shook her head in defeat, and left the room muttering, "I suppose it's alright as long as he's house trained… I'm going to have a nice little chat with that man if he thinks he can…"

Quickly, before her mother could come back in and change her mind, Hermione locked the door and slumped down against it. Her head seemed to pulse as she bit back wave after wave of nausea and struggled to breathe through a clogged nasal passage. A desperate need to understand what had happened a few nights passed came across her like no other necessity had. Were images of fur and wings but a feverish dream, or were they real, like the hellbe--wyvern? Speaking of which…

Eyes opened once more showed the beast had seemed to settle himself and was giving her an almost mocking look. "Don't push your luck," she muttered, and would have gone back to bed to sleep of the rest of her fever save for the urgent need to use the restroom. Any restroom. When she entered back, the creature had shut his eyes again and seemed to be sleeping. And so did she.

***

The precious few days of break were nearing, and with it, Hermione noticed that the wyvern seemed to grow… not agitated, exactly, but upset. So upset that it was palpable, tangible. That it seemed to pulse in her mind and had the effect of making her upset as well. It almost reminded her of the short time that Snape had been bound to her thoughts. The understanding with herself and with the world around her seemed to have faded, but she was aware that it was not gone, either. Hermione still _knew_ the occasional thought of Crookshanks, still had to endure the constant laughing of the crows. Perhaps this empathy with the wyvern was much the same?

As if sensing _her_ thoughts, the creature inhabiting her closet snorted and buried his fox-like head underneath his wings. Hermione shrugged and continued packing her things. In the morning, she and her parents would leave for London and the Hogwarts Express, which would take her to Hogwarts a few days before the beginning of the new term. And from there? A soft sigh escaped her lips. And from there she would become a student once more, bound by the dungeons for safety and security and a fear of something she didn't believe in. Voldemort was dead and gone, and only a fool would seek to chase after the powers he had hoped for. After all, what did a girl like her have to do with the insane powers he had held? She had killed him through insanity and nothing more.

Before she knew, the afternoon and it's thin wintery light had waned into evening, and the silver snows upon her window enchanted the shadows on the wall. A call from downstares told Hermione that it was supper time, and that she should go downstairs for her leavetaking meal. Indeed it was to be one of the last she had with her parents; when the end of term came, Hermione would be a fully fledged adult witch beginning her search for a job and the start of her own life. Her parents seemed to understand, for the atmosphere of the meal was subdued and quiet. Tearful without tears. There was no way to hold back time, either, and the meal was over. Hermione helped with the dishes for one last time, hugged her parents goodnight, even brushed her teeth with the gag toothbrush she had received for Christmas, as she had received for all her other Christmases.

The night deepened and so she slept.

In the early hours of the morning, when the winds blow the branches and cause them to scrape across the window panes, when the spirits of the great ice wind stir and the denizens of despair sing through the cold, Hermione came slowly to consciousness from a nightmare that had burned through her thoughts. The tapping of the great, searching branches upon her windows startled her into a heightened state of awareness and halted the breath in her lungs. Something was… not as it should be… Yet, try as she might to focus, the urge to sleep was great. The warmth of Crookshanks against her leg, the still figure of the creature in the closet. 

Tap tap tap came the sound against her window. Like beak and claw trying to break through.  Tap tap tap. _Come here flightless one, and watch the moon glow. Come here flightless girl, and open the window_

It--they beckoned from beyond. A flash of something that sparkled like a burning star haunted the snows outside and drew Hermione in a dreamlike daze towards the closed glass. _We have for you knowledge and truth, but you must come and take._ The crows of fury and hatred sat on the branch outside her window, knowing that she would come and open the way into her room. 

Through the darkness, in the whispy beams of moonlight, it was such a simple thing to unlatch the windows and lift up on the--the next conscious feeling she had was being flat on her back with the wind sucked out of her lungs.  In front of her she could see the Wyvern in full fury attacking the small flock crows that threatened to rip him apart with their sharp beaks. Everything seemed so surreal, it things couldn't  be happening--else her parents would have woken up from the loud commotion, right? With the window open, cold air filled the room caused her breath to steam in clouds. Crow after crow came in, some beckoning her on, some diving straight for her hellish savior, and never once did she think to use her wand.

_What's wrong with me? What am I becoming? Am I still insane? And why hasn't Crookshanks woken up? Is there something wrong with him as well?_

_Come to us, come to us, we know where your kind belongs._

That thought frightened her like no other could have, and she froze, listening to the sounds of dying crows and smelt mammalian blood.

A crow, or perhaps it was a raven--it was hard to tell as mangled as it was, flopped to the ground, not dead, but not quite alive anymore. Cautiously did Hermione pick it up, and after contemplating the weight of one life against another, snapped it's neck, and let it fall to the ground. It was the first that had entered the room, and the last to have fallen victim. Hermione looked up at the wyvern who's breath steamed in the frigid air. It looked down at Hermione, with a look somewhere between contempt and veiled concern. For a moment, it clawed at its own hide as if trying to escape before squeezing through the open windows and flying off into the night. 

And she was left alone again.

***

Winter break, though slightly better than the summer holidays only because Harry did not have to go home, was highly overrated.  Aside from it being lonely as both Ron and Hermione were away, there was nothing particularly interesting to do.  Aside from Hermione's supposed insanity (as much as he cared about her, he still had a hard time believing that she had not only killed Voldemort, but also been in any grave danger--this was Hermione after all! She was never the one to run head first into anything that could be considered trouble), nothing huge had really happened. Nobody, with the possible exception of Draco, had tried to kill him all year long. Quidditch was the same as always, with prospects of being beaten yet again by Slytherin.  As such, there was really no mystery to solve or enemies to plot against and it was boring, which left him to wander the old hallways after curfew by himself in hopes of finding _something_ to do. Anything. Even cleaning the owl barn for Filch.

_If I was smart, I'd be studying for NEWTS, but I'm not. Best leave that to Hermione._  Speaking of Hermione, Harry wondered how she was doing. He had noticed that his friend had been a bit preoocupied during the few weeks leading up to the break. It was probably nothing.  After all, Hermione was a big girl who could take care of herself, even if she did happen to have to live with the nastiest person in all of Hogwarts. Speaking of Snape… It suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn't seem the man at all lately. It was very uncharacteristic of the man to miss out on an opportunity to torment James Potter's last living heir, but Harry supposed that there was a first for everything. Even if it was a bit odd to think that perhaps the man had a personal life outside of the school as well. Really--

"Well, Severus," came the crisp voice of Minerva McGonagall heading down the hallway in the opposite direction as Harry, who quickly dodged behind one of the old suits of armor that bedecked the hallway, "as impressed as I am with your form, I am still unclear as to why you could not change back. I believe you are right in wanting to immediately inform Alb…" Her voice floated unintelligibly on the air, punctuated by some assuredly scathing remark by Snape before finally becoming inaudible.

Heart beating faster than nomal, Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself and rejoice in the fact that there was finally a new mystery to solve.  And something about Snape for once. Just wait until he told Ron and Hermione! Oh, so this year wasn't looking so bad after all!

****************************************************************************

Anyway, so I know it's not the definition of a wyvern, but I couldn't really call it a dragon or a griffin, either. And because I have finals, I'm not going to change it either ;p 

I realized as I reread this, that there's an awful lot of sleeping in this chapter. *Sigh* Oh well. I think I hate this chapter a lot, but it has to be written before I can get to the good plot. I'm warning you all though, I'm getting to the point where I just may rewrite the whole stupid story over the summer, because I'm growing weary of feeling so mediocre about it. I think both I and it would benefit from a good rewriting… ****


	5. When the Darkness Beckons

**

The Lady or the Snow Leopard

**

**Ibex's Lyre**

What was Hermione's Animagus form, then?  Well, she's a snow leopard, but really, who _has_ heard of a snow leopard with wings?  (Trust me, she's not _supposed_ to have wings.)

A friend of mine likes to claim that if she were to be any animal, she'd be a Panther dragon.  Now what a Panther dragon is exactly... well...  I'm not sure.  I don't think she's sure, either, but it sounds kind of neat. 

_  
_For SabreBabe, the cool gal

**Chapter Five: When the Darkness Beckons**

_Those who are prepared shall not want for warmth when the snows come across this enchanted land._

The irony of the situation did not make the solemn man who climbed the thousand steps smile or sneer; it was the knowledge that he had made a very unwise decision, and the repercussions were already beginning spread outwards like leaves on the wind.  Dark and chilling was his smile, like looking at the face of a man about to be hung laughing at the gathering crowd for being unfortunate enough to go on living.  It made Minerva shiver. 

"I don't see what's so funny," she said crisply.  Severus' smile thinned, but he said nothing. 

Funny how things were...  After the winter solstice, the days should have been getting longer.  Instead, every passing day seemed shorter and darker than the one before it.  The clouds were swallowing the sun and it seemed as though only he could see the signs and feel the corruption slowly spread across the magical realm.  "What fools we mortals be," was all he said.

Albus Dumbledore's office was as it always had been--circular and portrait filled.  Fawkes appeared to be sleeping on the edge of a chessboard, feathered chest expanding and contracting with every rapid breath he took.  Albus himself was flipping through some papers presumably from the Ministry and seemed rather delighted to have a distraction for he put down his papers and smiled cheerfully at the two.

"Ah, Minerva, Severus, pleasant as always to see you, although you are back a bit early."

"As pleased as you undoubtedly are, I have more disturbing things to inform you of, headmaster."  Severus dismissed Albus' friendly greeting with a flick of his hand.  Now was not the time for small talk and pleasantries.  "I fear we are on the brink of another war."

"And why is that?"  Albus asked pleasantly anyway.  He put down the papers he had been examining and moved a bishop to take one of the knights on Fawkes' side of the board.  The phoenix opened his eyes and began to examine the board.   

A hiss of exasperation left Severus' mouth, and Minerva felt inclined to answer for him. 

"It seems that there is someone out there intent on harming Miss Granger."  Her face was as grim as it had been the first day she had seen her prized student in St. Mungo's.

"More than just harm her, Albus, but control her.  Abduct her."  Severus' attitude suggested that for all he cared, they could have her.  The old wizard knew though that however his potions Professor tried to act, he did care whether Hermione was taken.  

"Do we know who, my dear Severus, wishes to do harm to Hermione, and why?"  Fawkes ruffled his feathers, pecked one of Albus' rooks over and used his beak to move his glass queen to where the onyx figure had been.  Both the queen and the rook seemed rather indignant over the way they were being handled by the phoenix.

Severus' eyes darkened.  "Lucius Malfoy has that happy honor, not that it should surprise anyone.  Although I could not ascertain what he intends to do with her, he has had the potential and motivation for years.  I was a fool to have not seen this before, and a fool even more so for driving Hermione to him."  He grated his teeth and ignored the look Minerva was giving him.

"Indeed, Severus," she asked, "is it already that bad?  I was led to believe that you could control her with a single thought."

"I could," and he shot her a look that withered a bunch of sweet smelling flowers in a vase behind Albus' desk, "until I in my mistaken attempt to get the girl to think on her own gave her a potion that temporarily dampened the mental connections between us."  Although Snape did not bother to tell the Headmaster and the transfigurations Professor the unpleasant conversation (if you could call it that, for Hermione had not actually spoken) that had ensued afterwards, he could not help but feel that perhaps Dumbledore somehow knew.

"And now she doesn't believe that the bond exists anymore?" the old man said softly.  He frowned and looked back to his game.

The dark-scowling man did not answer--nor did he look at the pondering headmaster and somewhat accusatory glare of Minerva.  "I would suggest," she said somewhat coldly, "that you did not make this mistake in the future."

"It was either that or have her dependant upon me for the rest of her assuredly miserable life.  I am not an easy man to share a mind with."

"Yes, it must be lonely," she retorted, and looked back at Albus.  The aforementioned man was currently studying the chessboard with all his interest.  A gleeful look came upon his face and he moved his bishop to box in Fawkes' queen so that she was trapped with seemingly nowhere to go without being in danger of being taken.  Fawkes' avian expression of displeasure was not unlike Severus'.

"I believe," he finally said when he was sure that Snape was going to make an unkind comment, "that we have been given no choice--unless you can suddenly convince Miss Granger of the continued existence of your connection...  I have suspected something like this would happen for a while now, which is why I left her in your care.  We most certainly should not give up, but..."  Albus sighed, watching Fawkes contemplate what he should do now.  "I believe the next move must be Hermione's."

Fawkes, his mind made up, pushed a lonely pawn near Albus's end of the board forward with a wing feather and knocked one of the black knights away.  Albus sent his own queen into attack, leaving his king alone and unprotected.  In a stroke of bird brained brilliance, Fawkes took this opportunity to set his suicidal queen diagonal forward--safely out of harm's way, but checking Albus' king in doing so.  

"Oh, dear," he said, his eyes gleaming even in defeat, "I hadn't thought of that.  I suppose you win, Fawkes."

Disgusted, Severus stormed out of the room and back to his dungeons, leaving Minerva behind to tell the man of Hermione's newfound ability to transfigure her body into a snow leopard.

***

The Hogwarts Express, as trains when, was a comfortable ride quiet enough for contemplation, but at the same time crowded enough that if somebody chose, there was always a friend or acquaintance around with which to chat.  Hermione  chose to do the former.  In fact, she was not quite sure how she felt, for she was coming back to the source of all her problems and all her joys.  One thing did seem certain, though:  she was sure her heart was becoming frozen like ice, was becoming as cold as the man she had longed for.

And a thought came to her: perhaps it was time to give up her heart, for it seemed like only those she did not want held any feelings for her, and the one she did would never reciprocate.  Therefore, her mind concluded, her heart was useless--she would never have need of it.  

The universe sometimes has a decidedly cruel idea of humor.  Hermione could have never known that many years before on the very same train, an unhappy young man came to the same conclusion as she had just done, had decided that to be cold and cruel was infinitely better than to every be swept away in a one-sided love affair again.  

A grim look set upon her face as she became determined to disassociate her heart from the rest of her emotions.  

The train arrived without incident.

Classes began in full swing again as the students and faculty began the new year with a (presumably) bright outlook and a rested mind.  Of course, there were always exceptions, but the vast majority of the student body was excited about something or another.  For the Seventh Years, of course, it was the prospect of only a few more short months before they were off and on their own.  For the First Years, it was the idea that the summer break was that much closer.  There was something optimistic for almost everyone.

The first class of the day for Hermione and most of the other Seventh Years was double Transfigurations.  This was proceeded by Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts.  She chatted with Ron and Harry throughout the day, catching up on new things and listening to the wild stories the boys told about their breaks--with a grain of salt, of course.  It would have been a perfect, Snape Free start to the new year, except that her very last class of the day was reserved for her Seventh Year Project.  

Hermione filed into the empty potions classroom with cold, seething anger.  Of course he wouldn't be here.  He needed to make her wait, first, if only to prove that he was her better.  Rather annoyed, Hermione went through her satchel and pulled out some of the homework she had already received and began to work on it, expecting that at any moment Snape would come in and force her to put away her books.  But he didn't come.  For almost an hour past, he didn't come, and when he did finally enter his classroom, door slamming against the wall so that it rebound to close itself from the force, Hermione found that she had lost what anger she'd been harboring to the calmness of logic.

Quietly, so as not to upset him anymore, she put her books away and sat attentively.  

Snape himself was sitting at his podium-desk, green quill scratching away obliviously.  From the way his quill kept on moving, Hermione was sure that either he was grading a paper from Neville (which didn't make sense since he had had the entire break to get work done) or he wasn't grading anything at all.  The latter was correct.

"Well...?" came his impatient query after a few minutes, and his quill stilled.

"What sir?"  Hermione was unsure as to what she was supposed to do.

"Are you going to transform your miserable body, or are you going to continue your incessant idleness? "

She gaped at him.  "You know?"

"I know," and his voice was silkiest, mesmerizing, "many things."

Swallowing slightly--she was unsure why she was so uncharacteristically nervous--Hermione stepped out into the front of the classroom with her back turned to the potions Professor, and began to concentrate.  Vague doubts plagued the back of her mind and mocked her newfound ability.  To quiet these, she took a deep breath and thought of how it had felt to shorten her fingers and feel her spine elongate.  Small and compact, elegant and sleek, with pads on her feet and fur on her body; Hermione had transformed.

Silver eyes glowered up at Snape and a pink tongue licked feline lips the way cats do when irritated and the mere twitch of a tail won't do.

Instead of becoming angry or annoyed, he merely raised an eyebrow and continued writing.  "No wings?"

This new revelation startled the snow leopard Hermione, and she arched her furry neck back to find that indeed she did not have wings.

Stunned, she transformed back into a human and tried to ask questions, but he silenced her, and continued his writing.  After a few minutes, he finally placed his quill back in the ink well and motioned for her to come to his desk.  "Sign here," he simply said.

Curious as a cat, or perhaps a snow leopard, Hermione came forward and looked down at what he had been writing on all this time.  She was surprised when she saw that they were registration papers for animagai, but at the same time she realized that it made perfect sense.  As soon as Hermione signed the papers underneath Snape's spidery signature, the documents disappeared and in their place appeared a certificate of registration, and a magical identification card to be kept in a safe place.  (Since there were so few registered animagai, it was not considered necessary that somebody carry proof of their legality as it could be easily looked up without confusion.)

With the greatest of care, Hermione picked up the certificate and card and studied them carefully.  When she had their images burned into her mind, she asked the new question that nagged her mind.  "What now?"  Her voice had been cool and uncaring, emotionless; yet the need for an answer betrayed her façade.  A thin, almost but not quite mocking smile came across Snape's face.

"That, Miss Granger, is entirely up to you."

Although it was usually not wise to press this man with questions, Hermione did anyway.  She, after all, was no longer afraid of him.  "What do you mean?"

Snape's smile turned into a sneer and he pulled out a book into which he began putting marks.  "I mean, Miss Granger," and his tone of voice was meant to remind her who was the teacher and who was the pupil, "that your project--projects, since I believe investigating your insanity was also a project--are completed.  The desired objectives have been obtained, thus there is nothing left to do save perhaps write a report on both that I may grade."

"But...  There are so many things I could still research," Hermione said desperately at the thought of suddenly having a class of self-paced research come to an end for any reason.  "The first time I transfigured, I had wings--"

"--that were nothing more than the result of a mistransformation--which as I have been led to believe by the resident expertProfessor McGonagall are quite commonplace the first few times one transforms.  Now if you would please, I have more important things to do than babysit a Gryffindor unless it be through detention."

"But--"

"Five points, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed seeing that no matter what she did, she was going to lose this conversation.  As she began to pack up (she was not sure whether she was going to disappear to her room or the Gryffindor common room,) the large, somewhat unkempt figure of Argus Filch came in with a cat in his hands and a  couple of cats trailing behind.  

"Here's your sweet," he said in his particular voice and dropped Quantum off on Snape's desk.  "Kept safe and fed while you were gone, she's been."  Quantum immediately began purring and saying her happy greetings whilst Snape was petting her with a very small smile on his face.  _As if,_ thought Hermione, _they had been separated for quite some time._  

A thought suddenly came to her mind--_what if...  No...  Professor Dumbledore woudn't have..._  She slipped out as quiet and unnoticeably as she could and headed straight towards the library.

***

The document that Hermione needed was nowhere to be found; presumably somebody else had checked it out.  It didn't matter much, as Hermione was not sure the information she needed would be found within.  There was always the good possibility that Snape had decided to exempt himself from the rules if he saw fit.  Still, it was a start if she could ever find the book.  

Hermione felt as though there were some questions to be answered.  If what and Professors Snape and McGonagall had said about mistransformations was true, she wanted to know why--_what does bat wings have to do with a snow leopard?_  Unless, of course, her own speculations were correct, and that Snape had learned a new trick over the break.  Which, sadly enough, led back to her original predicament, which was not being able to find the book in which all the known animagai who had ever existed were named.

There was one new hypothesis she was developing, one she wanted to keep silent and sacred until she had divined the correct answer to.  What if...  What if an animagus could have more than one form--despite what everyone said?

But Hermione didn't get to test that hypothesis immediately; school began to interfere as Hermione found that she needed to begin studying for the NEWTS and as new projects from other classes began to unfold.  January slushed into cold, wet February bringing no answers but only unpleasantness as wet students put on thick cloaks and clambered outside to be cold and shivering during Care of Magical Creatures only to go back inside later where the snow on their clothes and they could be cold and wet indoors as well.  Aside from the slight pleasure of giving Filch more things to clean up (he could often be seen cursing students under his breath while simultaneously employing those in detention to use a mop and a bucket near the main entrances) the coldness and dampness tended to make these months simply miserable.

As February neared, so to did giddy teen-aged hormones stir up in the atmosphere, and Hermione noticed... a change in one of her friends.  Something was up with Ron.

Well...  Something was always up with Ron, but this was different if only because it meant that he was suddenly directing odd giddy glances towards her every now and then and following her around as if he had suddenly realized that Hermione was human.  In addition, the red headed boy who had never cared all that much about classes before had suddenly developed an acute case of Longbottom Syndrome, requesting her help for even the simplest potions problem.

The thought... the idea that perhaps somebody else wanted the heart that had been so callously rejected made Hermione realize with a sharp pang of regret how distant she had become from even her friends.  The need to talk to _somebody_ reverberated through her soul and made her search for the one person whom she hoped would listen to her talk--even if it was just about Quidditch.

Hermione found Harry at supper time, and with considerable care managed to sneak him a note with the instructions:

_Meet me at the Astronomy Towers tonight at 10:00, alone_.

written neatly.  Harry looked slightly puzzled, but quickly put the note away just in time to see the black robes of Snape whisk by, apparently already satiated.  The Professor, as if acting upon some instinct that told him something was not as it should be paused for a moment and stared thoughtfully at the two.  "I hope," he said in a low voice that was quite contrary to the next thing he said, "that none of you are up to something that would get you suspended...?"

Caught nearly red-handed, Harry could do nothing more but gape up at the teacher.  The situation at hand was strange enough as it was without Snape finding yet another way to humiliate the not quite so famous anymore Harry Potter.  "No, sir--Hermione and I were busy discussing her project--"  Quite frankly, he had no idea where he'd come up with that line, but he prayed to anyone who might possibly be listening that Snape didn't become any more curious than he already was.

It seemed that nobody was listening, for the man in black starched clothing blinked, without emotion, exactly as a hawk would look at newly discovered prey.  "And what project would that be...  Miss Granger?"  His gaze shifted over to her.

Hermione withstood his eyes and held her ground.  "Harry and I were busy discussing my upcoming Arithmancy project, sir.  It's really rather interesting; my thesis concerns the accuracy of Mars in reference to predicting omens of the future compared to the mathematical foundations and fundamental theories of --"

A great sneer of contempt came across his face as he interrupted her, "Yes well, as undoubtedly intriguing as that must be," his tone made it quite clear he thought her subject was complete and utter rubbish, "it is still quite necessary for you to inform me of your location at all times.  Is that clear?"

"Crystal," she muttered, and for the first time a very dark look surfaced in her eyes.  "In that case, _sir_, I am going to the Library.  If, of course, you approve?  Or would you rather I follow you around like the cat you keep in your pocket?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he said so softly as to almost be silent, "Ten points for your cheek, Miss Granger."  Then, with a whisk of clothing and not even so much as a detention, he stalked away from the Hogwarts dining chambers.

Hermione stared thoughtfully after him for a few moments before disappearing herself, presumably off to the library.

Harry showed up on time as the note had said with the hope that Hermione would enlighten him as to what was going on.  It didn't surprise him when she found her already there with a large telescope, for Hermione had ever been punctual.  What did surprise him was the fact that she did indeed appear to be working on a project for Arithmancy.  When he had told Snape that he and Hermione had been discussing a project, he had never dreamed that perhaps his lie was actually somewhat true.  Well, it explained her cryptic message somewhat.

"I'm sorry I dragged you all the way up here," Hermione apologized to her friend when she saw him clamber up towards her location.  Together they worked on setting up her telescope.  "It's just that...  I don't know...  I'm beginning to feel like I'm being watched all the time.  I figured this is the safest place from spying eyes."

Harry decided not to comment about paranoia and continued working on the telescope anyway.  "So how is this going to keep us from getting in trouble?  Given the reputation of this place, I'm sure Snape and Filch make it their business to come up here at least once during the night."

Hermione made a sour face and began to focus the telescope on the moon and Mars.  "It so happens that I was assigned to do a report for Arithmancy earlier today that involves the orbits of planets.  That was very lucky of you, Harry.  Anyway, while I don't know the habits of Filch, I do know that Professor Snape isn't very likely to come looking at the top of Astronomy Towers for me tonight--or if he does, he won't have very much grounds to reprimand either you or I."

"Why?"  This interested Harry greatly for he did not particularly enjoy the prospects of three weeks of detention and a false reputation.

A mischievous smile lit her face.  "Why Harry, you know how great is his concern about always knowing my whereabouts..."

Surprise and intrigue crossed his mind as well as suspicion at his good friend's behavior.  As much as Ron liked to deny it, Harry was convinced that something was odd about Hermione.  "What did you do, Hermione?"

"Relax," she said in her crisp, authoritative tone.  "Nothing you wouldn't approve of.  I merely left him a note attached to his pillow."

"Then why the mysterious look?"

"Because, my dear Harry, he'll have to enter his quarters before he finds the note.  Unfortunately, he doesn't tend to do this until he's just preparing to sleep for the night, which he will most likely not do until he has made his rounds.  And if he does indeed find us here, he won't be able to put us in detention, because I have a note giving me--as well as you--permission to spend my nights up here.  Therefore, unless he desires to take this up with Professor Dumbledore, he'll have no other recourse but to storm back to his dark quarters and be exceedingly intolerable tomorrow.  Which is, of course, a Saturday, so he won't be able to take out his frustration in class."

Harry wasn't quite as confident as Hermione seemed to be with the sanity of this plan; consciously annoying Snape was never very smart if one wanted one's life to be pleasant at all.  However, Hermione seemed confident in what she was doing, and continued to fiddle with the telescope and take copious notes even as a small snow front began to move in and block out the stars.

''You know," Harry said carefully, testing the waters like any good friend would, "Ron likes you a lot."

"I know.  I assumed as much, anyway," Hermione responded in a low, quiet voice.  Quietly, she allowed for her hands to fall to her side and the parchment she carried to fall softly in the snow before her.   "I'm flattered, but..."

"But your heart belongs to someone else?"  Somewhere deep in his mind he was the one who was flattered that Hermione was finally talking to him again--even if the conversation was romantics and relationships.

"..." came the reply as Hermione fell back into deep thought.  She needed the time to choose her words carefully.  "When I when beyond the veils, when I died, I am beginning to feel as though not all of me came back from the great beyond.  Even still...  I'm not entirely sure that I would ever have reciprocated Ron's feelings anyway."

Hermione sat down next to Harry and leaned her head on his shoulder, unafraid that Harry would misinterpret the simple act of friendship.  For many long moments, the two friends contented themselves into watching the snows fall gently above the Astronomy Towers, telescope forgotten and rendered useless because of the dark clouds that were bringing the thick dusting of frozen water.  Breath condensed and disappeared as time seemed to hold itself in one place.  Peace reined between the two; calmness due to the understanding that neither desired the other as anything more than simple friends.

After a time, the nagging thoughts that plagued Hermione day and night convinced her to speak to her longtime friend. 

"Harry," she said, "did you ever stop to wonder whether this was perhaps simply the calm between the storm?  I mean, Voldemort's death was a bit melodramatic...  No big duel, no countless thousands dying.  It seems rather fake to me."

Harry's lips tightened slightly before he relaxed enough to stare down moodily at his gloves.  "It didn't seem melodramatic to me," came his reply.

"What do you mean?"

"My scar..." he started but stopped again.  That didn't seem the best way to begin.  "Sometimes I used to have dreams of Voldemort that would turn out to be true.  Sometimes my scar simply hurt.  The night you killed Voldemort, the pain was so great--it was the worst pain I'd ever felt in my life.  Not even the Cruatius Curse hurt that much...  The only way I can describe it is that it felt like I was being eaten alive by snakes from the inside out.  Like I'd failed myself and failed you.  I was..."

"Harry..."  Hermione whispered.  "I'm sorry..."

He sighed heavily.  "Don't be.  I guess I'm still a little disoriented.  I'd always been led to believe that I was the one who was supposed to kill Voldemort.  It's probably better this way anyway."

"I think the sirens were playing us all for fools."  Then a sigh herself.  "I don't know.  I still can't escape the feeling that even now something is out there planning dark things for the world."

Harry thought a while on this.  "Dumbledore seems all knowing, and he doesn't seem very worried."

"Does he ever?"

"No," he laughed.  "I guess not.  Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Let's say we save old Snape some excuses to deduct points and call it a night."

Hermione smiled and agreed.  Still, somewhere in the back of her mind she felt that the ever-present darkness was calling to her, beckoning, luring...

************************************************************************

You know, the more I think about it, the more I've become convinced that being able to transform your self into an animal is a form of wandless magic.  Anyway, I've realized that I haven been responding to reviewers lately, which is very disrespectful of me.  So I have rectified my erroneous ways:

Ezmerelda: First Question: No, Hermione did not change into a wyvern in the forest.  She changed into a Snow Leopard in the forest.  With wings... Oh, dear...  Second Question: Maybe. *evil grin*

c_fleurbleue:  Thanks!  I intend to continue, especially since I have skipped ahead and already written the very last chapter. 

sweetevangeline:  Thank you for your support.  It makes a writer happy and sane.

Hontoutempest: don't worry, the story progresses ever forward.

SB:  You must understand, I hadn't posted in quite a while and was, in a sense, out of the swing of things.  Had I forseen the confusion not explicitly expressing this was a sequal had caused, I would have made it clear that this is, in fact, the rather shoddy sequel to a rather shoddy story.  

JOdel:  You were correct.  I meant to write hazel, I instead inserted hickory.  The trees are my enemy.

Danyelle: Thank you.  (Although there are some days I beg to differ--beautiful? Never.  Intriguing?  Perhaps overly so.  Detailed?  The word: not enough often comes to mind.)  I hope future chapters impress you (and I as well) more than these ones do.

Tegan:  Every time you review I hope you know how guilty you make me. : )  I must admit I haven't read Echoes in a long time and I sorely need to do so and review like the dickens!  I'm glad you like my portrayal of Snape (he's so fun to do, most of the time) and yes, everybody loves cute and cuddly little Crookshanks.  It's not so much Hermione has a mental connection with just Crookshanks per say...  Perhaps she has finally learned to actually listen to what animals say?  Eh, well, mental connection works fine too.  Don't worry, though--despite the fact that Hermione and Severus refuse to behave in respects to each other, they *do* eventually wind up together (and not in just a vague sort of way, either.)

Liesl:  Heh...  Muses are evil things, I think (right, Autumnmist?).  I hope as well that I don't mentally dry up again either... especially since I've got the bestest, most melodramatically dramatic last chapter ever already written!  (I'm sorry to tease you Ezmerelda, but you did have a good point about the ending chapter of LoS.)  Anyway, if my muse runs away again, I think I'll capture her with a net.  *another evil grin*


	6. First Flakes

**The Lady or the Snow Leopard**

**

Ibex's Lyre

**

I know *exactly* how this story is going to end for I have written the final chapter.

I do not know what is going to happen between here and then.

I am beginning to wonder why I insist on drawing this story out so long when I could have ended it ages ago.  I think it's a form of torture.

**Chapter Six:  First Flakes**

Severus Snape regarded his image in the wall-hung mirror placed above his dresser.  He had not done so since the day...  But on this day of days he had decided to do so if only for comic relief.  And he did laugh, bitterly.  Life was an irony, a joke of fate spewn from the very bowels of the hate demons that seemed so intent on invading his mind.

In a foul mood that seemed to get fouler by the minute, Severus stormed out of his sleeping quarters and glared in the direction of Hermione's room.  She was not in her quarters, of course; in recent weeks she had spent as little time there as she possibly could.  It made his chore increasingly difficult for now he was forced to waste precious time tracking her down and making sure that she was relatively safe from danger.  Hermione liked to believe that she was independent now; a good illusion, but in the end it was incorrect.  She just hadn't realized it yet.

He left his living quarters all together and sat down at his podium-desk.  There was a quill sitting on it, the very same one he had been glaring at moments ago before finally giving up in disgust and storming off to ponder dark things.  Now he was back, presumably to continue what he had left off.

There was an eagle owl getting ready to fly away from the Owlry to deliver a message.  He knew this because he had seen Draco finish writing it at the breakfast table this morning.  The message assigned to that owl's charge contained vital information concerning Hermione's well-being.  If he could intercept the owl and the message, he would have a better chance of preparing for the oncoming storm.  If...  If he could change to the form he had taken against the ravens and crows...  But transfigurations had not been a specialty of his and as much as he was loathe to admit it, he was uncertain how he had transformed in the first place.

It was a Saturday; as such he had no reason to fear any unwanted pupil looking for his presence save for perhaps Hermione.  She, fortunately or unfortunately however you may look at it, was loathe to be within any measurable distance of him.  As Severus continued to glare balefully at the quill, he half expected _it_ to change instead of him.  Both his body and the feather, however, seemed quite adamant about not becoming a wyvern.  

A snarl escaped his lips and he stalked over to where his potions were kept and pulled a cauldron out.  He was a Potions Master, after all.  He would find some way to change if it killed him.

From his warded shelves, he pulled a small phial of polyjuice potion and a small trace of a heretofore unnamed concoction he had been working on for some time.   The very same one, in fact, that he had hoped--grimly--to be the downfall of the old Dark Lord.  The principal behind it had been extraordinarily simple: to seek out the tainted reptilian cells and destroy them, thereby destroying the entire body.  However, when tested on half transformed animal subjects, the potion had served to boost the alien cell production.  Perhaps, Severus theorized, if a derivative of polyjuice potion was added, the body might make a complete transformation.  If not, he'd look only half a wyvern until either Madam Pomfrey or McGonagall took pity on him.

The potion mixed nicely, creating an eerily orange glowing substance that looked rather dangerous.  Normally, he would have tested it on a few test subjects before consuming it himself, but time was of the essence.  If that owl wasn't intercepted, he was positive there wouldn't be enough time to prepare for what was to come.  So, with a rather self-depreciatory smile that was more sneer than anything else, he drank a small portion of the potion down and waited.

Minutes went by, and no noticeable affect other than a slight burning sensation that seemed to soak slowly into his body.  If anything, the air around him seemed slightly more chill than normal.  A sick, sinking sensation that the potion was slowly strangling him set in.  Not in particular desire to end his life quite yet, Severus made a step towards his desk and a neutralizing potion--only to fall clumsily towards the ground as if his feet had forgotten how to walk.  Upon reaching out to catch himself, he was indeed surprised to find fingers grossly elongated and webbed.  Bones grew in length and shortened in size in an agonizingly slow and painful way.  And when the pain became too much, he merely gritted his teeth until everything became mercifully less.

When he looked up, he realized that his podium was far above him--something unexpected.  So... something had changed in his form...  He was no longer the wyvern he had been but instead a... bat.  A very large bat, in fact.  The nasty little remark about mistransformations came screaming back through his mind, and his little vulpine mouth sneered.  Wyvern indeed.  Flying fox, more likely, though he could not be sure until he either looked in a mirror or had somebody verify for him.  But time once more pressured him forward, and he launched himself into the air.

Out of the room he flew, and through the basements.  Darkness was his friend and he embraced its cloaking goodness.  Through the maze of ever-changing passageways, and up the stairs that led towards the entrance.  The solid doors that made up the entrance to Hogwarts were both open as children of all ages clambered in and out, playing slush-fights in the vestibule and then being chased back outside at the sound of Filch cursing and coming down the hallway after them.

He knew he had made it unseen when a great burst of coldness permeated his entire being and the fact became evident that bats were not made to endure the harshness of February unaided by hybernation.  But then again, Severus had never been one to let such things laugh at him without scowling back.  It was too late to turn back--not when he had already failed the cursed girl once.

A quick look in the Owlry told him that Malfoy's owl had already gone; Severus cursed his luck and himself, his keen eyes seeing the creature far in the distance.  He had missed it, then.

***

She had promised him that she wouldn't go anywhere without his permission.  She had told him that she would always let him know where she was to be whenever she was not in his presence.  But those words seemed very distant from where she was now, like the fairy dust on butterfly wings.  

The lake was calm now; frozen over and sleeping peacefully even though the watery winter sun pierced vainly through the gray clouds.  All things considered, neither the lake nor the sun was much marred by the turmoil of the mortals they watched--thump!  

Wet snow lodged itself in her hair and clothing as a Harry-launched snowball hit her square in the back of the head.  Hermione let out an exasperated scream, dropped her books, and chased after her grinning friend with cheerful determination and a handful of slush of her own.  Exuberated laughing to her right told her that Ron was following close enough next to her turn and release her frozen projectile.  It hit with a satisfying sloshing sound.  Ron stopped with a cheerful "Oy!" for only long enough to create another snowball before he launched himself into a trot after Hermione and Harry.

Laughing like she had not laughed in a long, long time, Hermione dodged and repelled snowballs thrown by her two best friends.  Her books and things lay forgotten in the snow by the lake as the three frittered away the day in a careless, timeless fashion.  In fact, it seemed that for once things were fine.  

She dodged another snowball and charmed one after Harry.  He bounced it back towards her with a poorly chanted spell that bounced off of her own charm and sent it careening into the side of one Draco Malfoy's face.

Silence.  The world stood still in shock.

It seemed that everybody around who had been close enough to have seen what had happened all held their breath and watched with morbid fascination to see what was going to happen between Hogwarts two most famous--and infamous groups now that the insult had been issued forth from Harry's hand and Hermione's magic.  Draco, the coolly outraged, and Harry with his senseless bravado faced off in an unspoken battle of wills.  Both felt justified, but both could not be equally innocent; an accident _was_ an accident, but pride did demand justice--even if the offense be a mere bit of snow in the eyes.

There was a collective pausing of breath for nobody wanted to miss what could undoubtedly lead to a duel or worse.  They watched without envy but with the kind of dark curiosity that people do when they see a horrific vehicle accident or environmental disaster unfold before their eyes.  Like ravens searching for carrion, like sharks circling blood.  Like shadows of Luna upon the dragon sun, and death upon the innocent flame. 

But Harry and Draco kept their cold glares, neither heeding the silent messages of the crowd or of their peers.

Indeed, Draco turned away from the Gryffindor Qudditch seeker and focused his attention instead on Hermione.  The thin, watery sun shined off his alabaster face and accentuated the cruel smile that formed slowly upon recognition of some dark-hatched thoughts that her visage called forth in his mind.  "Ah yes, the mudblood."  His sarcastic humor served only to amuse himself.

Ron, Hermione's self-proclaimed defender, grew red in the face at this old insult and stepped forward, much to the delight of the crowd.  "You should keep your mouth shut, Malfoy!" he all but shouted with the passion of an angered red-head.

"Why, Weasley," came Draco's drawl as he pulled himself upright as a snake would and rose to the full extent of his height, which was considerably taller than even Ron's.  After all, why force one's self to always look up at inferiors?  "I was referring to Granger...  Although I suppose your lot's such a disgrace to the Wizarding name that your blood probably _is_ as filthy as dirt..."  He smiled somewhat cruelly as Ron opened his mouth and clenched his fists with the intention of strangling the Slytherin; a well timed _petrificus totalus_ served to be the ironic end of the Weasley threat.  "It wouldn't do to embarrass ourselves anymore than we already have, Weasel--" he laughed, "--after all, reputations are at stake."

Crabbe and Goyle were laughing, and so was all too many of the surrounding on-watchers.  Harry gritted his teeth and clenched his wand so tight that he could feel his fingers spasm painfully and his groomed nails digging into the flesh of his palm.  "As if you had a reputation worth being careful of," he growled, far too uncomfortably aware of the throbbing in his forehead that he had not felt since Voldemort's fall.

"Oh, but I do...  After all, my mother was never Voldemort's whor--"

That served to be the straw that broke the camel's back.  All of Harry's carefully cultivated self control evaporated in a blaze of blindingly white rage.  "MY MUM WAS NOT A WHORE!" he shouted and raised his wand.  "_SILENC--_"

But it seemed that not even sheer hulking fury was no match for the reflexes of the coldly collected; Draco responded with "_Serpensortia!_"  It worked just as well as it had in the second year; an enormous, rather poisonous looking snake came flying from Harry's wand and landed with an enraged hiss in the snow.  Harry's attention momentarily diverted as he tried to calm the murderous snake left him completely open to Draco's sense of humor.  "Sorry, Parseltounge, you're frightening the children," Malfoy mocked and completed his duel with the Silence charm.  Harry tried to cast some sort of undoubtedly nasty hex on Malfoy, but was rendered all but ineffective as no words came to reinforce the will, and he was no expert of voiceless magic.

It was now just Hermione and Draco.  As she sized up her odds, Hermione shrewdly calculated that while she could most likely take out Draco, she was probably not fast enough to also stop Crabbe and Goyle from hexing her in the process.  Had Harry or even Ron kept their cool--but that was a mute point now.  A cold-stiffened snake served to emphasize the quiet desperation of the situation.  And as there was no teacher in sight (she cursed the faculty for their habit of appearing only when it was _not _convenient to the Griffindor trio) she realized that she was rather stuck with suffering the abuses of Draco...  Not that she particularly feared him in a crowd this large, but still, it was not going to be pleasant by any means.

"What do you want?" she sighed.

Draco's smile grew darker.  "An apology.  I believe you owe me one."

Indeed, Hermione had cast the offending magic that had sent Harry's snowball onto a collision course with the side of Draco's face.  However, the oddity of such a simple request sent her mind reeling in a vain search for answers.  Why was Draco being so reasonable?  "I'm sorry," she said, sounding sincere and yet, without remorse at the same time.

"You know," he began casually, "there was a time when such insolence would not have been tolerated by one of such clearly lower rank," he said in his honey-thick voice.  "However, I made a promise.  You should consider yourself lucky, Granger."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, Malfoy.  Now, if you'll excuse me?"  Hermione raised her wand to help Harry and Ron only to be interrupted by Draco once more.  The crowd around was beginning to disperse, feeling that there was nothing interesting remaining.

"You know," he said in a voice so mockingly sweet as to drown flies, "Father is getting a new pet for the family.  A snow leopard.  I thought you'd be interested, as you seem to have a considerable amount of experience with the creatures..."

Her insides froze instantly and became as cold as the outside air.  How could he possibly know--

But of course, she was registered, and registration was free knowledge to anybody who would be interested.  And Lucius Malfoy would certainly be one to be most interested in the affairs of the girl who had put an end to his former master.

In an instant all the words of sneering caution Snape had given her about her precarious safety came flying back to mock her.  Draco's words were clearly a threat, a warning: _I know your weakness and your every guise, mudblood.  _Somehow she managed to compose herself enough to respond coldly, "Clearly I'm not interested, Draco."  

"What do you think we should call her?  Some Muggle name, perhaps?  Elaine, maybe," he mocked, striking a cord deep within her and drawing up heretofore unknown homicidal urges.  Oh, how easy it would be to wring his neck for mocking her so!  Pansy Parkinson and the few others remaining laughed until their spasming lungs would not allow them to laugh anymore, and then sauntered off with Draco in search of new, more fascinating prey.  

Relief poured through her every fiber and she sank to her knees in exhaustion.  For many minutes did she kneel still with her forehead to the cool snow before she felt collected enough to revive her two friends.  Out of the corner of her eye she vaguely noted an overly large bat flittering in the drunken dance of flying mammalia towards some unknown objective.  If she had held any sense at all, she would have hunted down Snape with her pride in her mouth seeking safety, but all she wanted to do at that moment was cry to the snow white moon in the safety of her room. 

***

Wings beating rapidly through the air, Severus chased the owl that Draco had sent through the woods.  He was almost on it now, grimly noting the size difference between the two.  Eagle owls were renowned hunters, taking on mammals and birds of comparable sizes without a second thought.  A bat--however large he was--would not pose much of a challenge to as well trained an owl as Draco's inevitably was.  Still... if this was the only way he could correct the damage he had done then he would risk his own hide and soul to see that Hermione was safe.  She was, after all, his ward.  Try as he might, he could not deny what he had begun those short months ago.

The eagle owl, aptly named Dark Claw, gave a warning hoot as Snape flew closer, and dived down into the icy grasp of the forest below.  He followed with a sneer, weaving through tree and branch and always keeping Dark Claw in his sights.  Faster, cutting through the scything fingers of trees more closely he thought once and apparated forward.  Blink.  The searing cold of the interdimensions one traveled through when apparating lacerated delicate wings before he was once more back in the freezing winds that were only just warmer in comparison.  Closer now, he could smell the stench of the owlry and see a glimmer of brilliant orange eyes.  But not close enough.

Dark Claw cried defiantly and steeply turned skyward in a tricky aerial path that caused Snape to be momentarily bound by the branches.  He would have cursed if he could; instead he apparated once more into the direct path of the owl determined to take the message it held.  The bird screamed in rage and loosened one taloned foot to swipe at the overlarge and certainly not native bat in its path.  

White hot sparks flashed before his eyes as the claws hit their target and slashed across his body.  Snape screamed in rage and dived for the letter that was just out of his grasp.  Dark Claw took this opportunity to climb higher in the sky, skreeing and hooting in avian disgust.  Then, turning on his huge wings, the bird plunged back towards Severus, who had just enough of a warning to barely avoid being pinioned on sharp claws.  

Seeing his opportunity, he immediately joined Dark Claw in the dive.  Faster and faster, beating with gravity, he dived with the vague wish he had been something more aerodynamic than a bat.  A kestrel, anything--  The impact with Dark Claw's back  caused them both to tumble to the ground gracelessly.  The impact stunned the owl, and it lay sprawled upon the ground giving Snape easy access to the message he had so desperately desired to see.  

Time, time was escaping too quickly.  The stunned bird would awaken with a bloodlust for flying foxes in a short amount of time.  Severus, with awkward movements as his feet were not made for walking at all, nor were his hands created for grasping, tore the letter from Dark Claw's talons and opened the magically sealed letter.  Lucius would know that somebody had read it, but would hardly assume it had been Severus--for now, at least.  The contents were spelled forth in Draco's overly messy-but elegant writing:

_Dear father,_

_School is as boring as it ever was.  I am hoping you're coming to take me away from this wretched place soon?  The only thing that makes it worth it is knowing that Potter is going to pay dearly for his crimes.  That, and your new pet.  Training is coming along rather well, I hope.  Tell mum I love her._

_Draco._

A growl escaped his vulpine throat.  Wasted effort; this owl had been merely a diversion!  In his state of fuming fury and rage, he was half tempted to take out his wand and blast the owl like the pathetic creature it was--only he couldn't.  He had no wand for technically it was, as with his clothing, now a part of him.  The logic behind clothing and wand transforming to become living tissue was only slightly absurd, but this revelation brought with it new problems:  he was uncertain now how to change back without McGonagall's help.

************************************************************************

Ok, my computer exploded...  (It was pretty impressive, to say the least)

Thank you for taking the time to review--it gives me an idea of what I'm doing well and what I'm failing at.  Regardless of what any writer says, we do write to entertain you--else we wouldn't post.  Your reviews mean a lot to me.

-Ibex

Autumnmist- Ah, where would I be without you?  Even if you are an evil, demonic creature whose sole goal is to torment me?  I'm just kidding, of course. :)

Ezmerelda- Severus suffers from... a complete inability to express himself, and a greater inability to chose the easiest paths.

Tegan- You're great! I don't know where I'd be without you, either!  Your reviews have kept me writing when I wanted to, oh, say, kick my machine out my window and scream in frustration at my writing abilities, and for that I say thanks.  

Mertle- Thank you for sticking with the story.  I have no idea how I came up with such a complex plot--I began writing one day, and a story began to appear.  Now I am stuck knee deep in a seemingly endless story.  It is a mixed blessing, I guess.

Flax, Black Orchid- I write when I can, but the powers that be do not always let me.  It's horrible to keep you guys waiting for so long, I know, but I seriously do try. (yeah, yeah, I know you all don't believe me)


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